


Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space

by gremlinteeth



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Apathetic Craig Tucker, Broken Families, Bullying, Craig is determined NOT to be gay, Craig x Tweek is main focus so other listed relationships are mostly in the background, Craig's Gang, Drug Abuse, Eric Cartman Being Eric Cartman, F/M, Fights, Fist Fights, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Third Person, Post-Divorce, Slow Burn, Stan's Gang - Freeform, Tutoring, Unrequited Love, Use of the f slur, it's gonna be a bit sad at the beginning but get happier so just enjoy that grind to the good stuff, spaceman Craig gets a mention, use of j slur by cartman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 128,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlinteeth/pseuds/gremlinteeth
Summary: The epitome of apathy, Craig Tucker has never been anything but nonchalant when it comes to his life and other related catastrophes. As long as he's not missing his favourite tv show or being hassled into another one of his classmates' ill-advised schemes, the boy truly doesn't care. Why should he? He's almost halfway through his Junior year at South Park High, which he's already figured out means he's only trapped there for another year and a half.Yet, there's only so far flying under the radar can get you, and unless he can get his grades up before the end of the school year, he won't be graduating with the rest of his class.Luckily, there's a blonde-haired recluse who might be able to help him - in more ways than he'd hoped.





	1. Prologue

He was having the dream again.

Inky black stretching out forever into the expanse both above and below him, glittering with a frosting of stars. Just the boy alone, drifting within that wide open nothing and wondering how it was that all the twinkling lights were so far away.

 _"Ground control, do you copy?"_  He asks into the headset inside his helmet, and there's no answer except for a thick and heavy silence until he's no longer sure if he said the words aloud or just thought them.

He can't remember his mouth moving. He can't remember how he even got there in the darkness, floating with his hands reaching out futilely for something to grab a hold of. The thought feels numb all through the centre of him, like holding snow in his bare hands; so cold it burns.

Beyond are constellations no one has named yet, and planets untouched by human civilisation. Spaces in the universe with dead stars bending back the light, or purple nebulas the shapes of horses' heads. Planets where it doesn't snow most of the year, and if it does the snow is diamonds that fall compressed and sparkling against the surface of that alien world. His gaze is fixed on it all, imaging the possibilities with his mouth open in wonder.

It's still only silence from NASA on the headset, but the mission has never been so clear to him as it is at that moment; to boldly go. Craig Tucker never smiles but Spaceman Craig does, big and wide so that all his teeth show, even the crooked ones he hates. When he speaks again it's a whisper to the stars ahead, every word sweetened by the grin spread across his face.

_"I guess it's just you and me then."_

_Just us?_ The nearest star seems to ask, twinkling pale gold towards him,  _What about the rest of the world?_

 _"Fuck the world,"_  Craig tells it, feeling he's flying as he opens his arms out like he's readying for an embrace, _"I'd rather have you."_

The glow grows brighter and warmer as the boy finally reaches it, and he's about to close his arms around its buttery radiance when the dream dissolves around him. The stars fall to static and the calm silence of space is interrupted by the incessant sound of knocking, of someone calling his name.

So it was, that the boy woke up the morning of his seventeenth birthday already wishing he hadn't.


	2. Birthday Boy Blues

_\- in which Craig hates his birthday -_

Pale morning light filtered in through the gap between the bedroom curtains, tinting the room in grey as Craig blinked sleepily into wakefulness. The knocking at his door continued a few more times before it finally stopped, the sound of his mother's voice ringing out from behind the scuffed wood.

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

Craig felt his nose wrinkle as he frowned at the term of endearment, pulling the blankets back up and over his head as if the action could shield him from the day. As he closed his eyes to settle into sleep once more, he heard the unmistakable click of the knob turn and the responding creak from the hinges as the door swung open.

"Happy birthday!" His mother called into the room as she entered, stopping at the side of his bed and smoothing her gentle hands across the Craig-shaped mound under the comforter as she added just a little more sternly, "Come on munchkin, up you get."

_Ugh, "munchkin"._

The boy resolutely stayed beneath the covers, scowling into his pillow with concentration as he tried to will his mom into leaving the room and allowing him to drift back into the dream he'd been having. Already it was fading, the details he could recall becoming blurred and hazy as he felt the blankets being tugged off his defensively curled body.

"Grnngh," Craig grumbled incomprehensibly into his pillow, tucking himself further into the foetal position to ward off the sudden cold.

"Come on, darling, I've got special birthday breakfast waiting for you downstairs," His mother cooed, before losing her temper as the boy still refused to move and snapping, "Craig Tucker get out of bed before I throw all those pancakes I got up early to make for you into the trash can."

_Jesus Christ._

"Yes ma'am," He replied in his most sarcastic tone, turning his head to give the woman a dejected look only to find she had already breezed out of his room.

It took all his willpower to pull himself off the soft mattress, but the boy still immediately obeyed the no-nonsense command; only a complete fool would ignore a request from Laura Tucker, and although Craig wouldn't consider himself a genius, he definitely considered himself smart enough to follow an order.

Without bothering to open the curtains to the day beyond their thick navy folds, he stood barefooted in the centre of his chaotically messy bedroom and cracked his toes against the fuzzy carpet. Piles of laundry both dirty and clean lay scattered all around him, as if the boy had somehow mistaken the floor for a wardrobe.  
              Stooping to pick up a crumpled and well-worn t-shirt from the floor, he gave it a small sniff to check it didn't smell too badly of old sweat before he pulled it on over his head. The ragged thing was his favourite, the once-white material a soft grey from years of wash and wear. A promotional graphic of the Michelin Man that had once emblazoned the breast pocket of the shirt was cracked and faded, the tires that formed the character's body now closer resembling voluptuous fat rolls that could rival those of Eric Cartman from his calculus class. He couldn't remember exactly why it had become his favourite in the first place, but it was the fifth day in a row he had worn it and he wasn't sure he cared enough to stop the streak.

Pulling on some standard black jeans and his blue overcoat, he was still yawning and wishing for sleep as he made his way downstairs towards the noise of the rest of the Tucker family having breakfast. The sound of his mom humming to herself in the kitchen grew increasingly louder as his sister Tricia whined for her to stop, and Craig was smirking as he entered the room.

"It's not funny,  _Astro Boy_ ," Tricia snapped, narrowing her eyes towards his clear amusement at her expense.

At the mention of the cartoon character, Craig scowled viciously, answering with a raised middle finger. His free hand self-consciously   drifted to his hair, patting downwards on it in a fruitless attempt to flatten the two large cowlicks that had saddled him with the annoying nickname. When the stubborn tufts of ash black hair refused to cooperate he turned and left the kitchen, stomping back up the stairs towards his bedroom.

"Tricia! Behave!" Laura Tucker admonished her daughter below, her voice drifting up towards the still-dark room as she added in a sigh, "It's his birthday, don't put him in one of his moods."

_My "moods"? Wow, way to make me sound like I'm suffering from PMS, mom._

He clenched his jaw and swallowed the irritation, letting the hollow space inside of him absorb the emotion until he was once again left with nothing. Calmly numb, the boy picked up his winter hat off the floor from beside his bed and shoved it on, pulling it down by the ear flaps until every lock of hair was concealed behind the navy wool.

"Oh, Craig, when are you going to give up wearing that old thing?" His mom asked with a forced smile when he returned to the kitchen, ruffling the yellow puffball atop the hat before handing him a plate piled with syrup-drenched pancakes.

"I don't know," Craig shrugged, before sitting at the opposite end of the table to his sister.

The girl looked only slightly guilty at the sight of his listless expression, tapping her fork on the edge of her own plate of half-eaten pancakes as she watched him begin to pick at the first layer of his stack.

"Are you even going to thank mom for making those, birthday boy?" She finally demanded, earning herself a second view of Craig's middle finger for the morning.

She flipped him off in return, then continued tapping her fork in a rhythmless beat against the china until he finally relented on their wordless standoff.

"Thank you, mom."

The rest of breakfast was a clash of Laura's forcefully cheerful humming and singing, Tricia's sullen remarks, and Craig's heavy silence. Tension thrummed in the air as if it were a live wire, prickling with words unsaid and an absence so palpable the boy felt he might have been able to slice into it with a knife.

All three of them waited for the phone to ring.

It was useless aching over it, Craig told himself, his eyes on the silent handset hanging from the eggshell-white wall. Either the call would come that morning or later on tonight; it would come regardless either way.

The phone didn't ring.

With promises of presents from his mother and a muttered oath of no presents from Tricia, the two siblings left the house and fell into mutual silence as they trudged through the snow to the bus stop. More than a few of their neighbours were already out throwing salt on their paths or scraping what snow had fallen overnight from their driveways, bundled up in thick scarves and gloves. They were familiar faces, ones they had grown up seeing almost every day for the eighteen years the Tuckers had lived at Number 1010, yet the familiarity did not grant them any immunity to the distrustful looks and concerned stares the pair felt as they passed each of them.

It was probably due to knowing the Tuckers  _too_  well that had led their nosy neighbours to their current state of animosity towards the family, Craig supposed, meeting their cold gazes with calm indifference as he led his bristling sister past.

"Who the fuck do they think they're looking at?" The girl hissed under her breath, blue eyes narrowed into slits as she glared defiantly back at each neighbour in turn.

"The bad seeds of South Park," Craig muttered in response, smirking as he watched Tricia flash her middle finger across the road at Mrs White.

" _Craig Tucker and the Bad Seeds_ ," His sister mused, nodding with satisfaction as Mrs White openly gasped in shock over being flipped the bird by a twelve year old at eight o' clock in the morning, "It has a ring to it... should we start a family band?"

Craig was surprised to find himself laughing as he briefly imagined the disaster that would be, before complaining, "Why would I have to be frontman?"

"Because you're the worst."

_Fair enough._

When they reached the bus stop, Tricia stopped a short distance away to text her friends, whilst Craig continued onwards to the small shelter where he could see two figures sitting waiting. One was slouched, a set of crutches leaning against the seat beside him, and the other was doubled over, forehead resting on his knees with his hands fisted in his own thick brown hair. He was crying, and not quietly either.

Jimmy and Clyde, two of Craig's three best friends.

"A-and then she said I was  _too short_  for her-er-errrr," Clyde was blubbering as he approached, the end of his sentence drawn out in a long miserable wail.

Jimmy just kept nodding, patting his back like one would for a vomiting drunk and offering up a consolation of, "W-wow, Clyde, I guess she's being the  _b-bigger_  person then, huh?"

It was definitely not one of the boy's better jokes, but he never had done well under emotional pressure. He looked incredibly relieved when he looked up to see Craig standing arms crossed in front of the two of them, mouthing  _"Bebe dumped him"_  silently over Clyde's downturned head.

Craig nodded, inwardly cursing the blonde girl as he reached out and awkwardly patted his broken-hearted friend's free shoulder, trying to think of something to say. Something helpful. Something human.

"Surely it's not  _so_  sad this time, Clyde," He finally intoned, voice nasal even to his own ears, "I mean, she's dumped you five times now."

Jimmy gave him a horrified look, one wide eye meeting his gaze whilst the lazy one stared incredulously into the distance. Craig shrugged, well aware that he might not have chosen the right wording for his condolences.

"No," Clyde sniffled, looking up with a face covered in tears and snot, "It's WORSE! She left me for  _Kenny McCormick_."

Craig faltered, genuinely floored that the prim and proper Bebe Stevens he'd known since elementary would choose South Park High's resident ratbag as her new boyfriend.

"Surely -"

"This is the WORST day of my life and will be forever marked as a black day within human history," The teary boy continued passionately, before burying his face in his hands and recommencing his unabashed sobbing.

"... And on that note, happy b-birthday Craig, by the way," Jimmy added, grinning with a mouth full of braces before offering, "Do you want me to s-s-sing it to you?"

"I think I'll live without hearing your rendition, but thanks for the offer," Craig drawled in response, before letting out a noise of surprise as a guilty Clyde leapt up to hug him.

"Shit,  _dude_ , happy birthday!"

The stocky boy's body thudded into his chest, arms coming around his ribs to crush him in a vicelike squeeze. Despite the grotesque sensation of his friend's runny nose being pressed against his bare collarbone, it felt warm and full of barefaced love, no holds barred, and Craig found himself genuinely smiling for the first time that morning. Lips curling yet still carefully hiding his crooked teeth, he gently shook the other boy off him with a laugh.

"I didn't forget," Clyde insisted as he pulled away, brown eyes wide with sincerity.

"It's alright, you've got other things to be thinking about," Craig responded, waving his hand as if to bat away the apology, "Like your broken heart, and your on-again-off-again girlfriend running away with the boy who once tried to buy weed with food stamps."

At this Clyde's eyes went glassy, his bottom lip puckering into a trembling pout before he let out a pained whine and resumed his sobbing. Jimmy sighed and shot Craig an exasperated look, but the boy was too busy trying to extract himself from their weeping friend's embrace as he was once again subjected to Clyde's wet nose being pressed into his shoulder.

It was surely going to leave some sort of teary mucus on his jacket.

The bus rumbled to a brake-squealing stop at the kerb, and Tricia bounced on ahead of the others, keen to talk to her friends. Craig climbed aboard more slowly, still supporting the weight of a snivelling Clyde, who, although painfully melodramatic at times, at least had the confidence to be completely unabashed at having the rows of South Park High students see his tears. Jimmy followed last, his crutches clicking on the metal stairs as he moved up them with the ease that years of practice had granted him.

Midway up the bus, their friend Token was spread out waiting for them, and all three boys were quick to take the seats he had been saving with his legs and schoolbag. After guiding his weepy companion to the free seat beside the other boy, Craig slid in beside the window of the seat in front and leaned against it, Jimmy plonking himself beside him.

"Hey guys, and happy birthday, Craig!" Token greeted them, before frowning in concern and asking sternly, "What is it this time, Clyde?"

At this the boy in question only began to cry in earnest once more, burying his face in Token's shoulder with a wail of misery that sounded a lot like the name "Bebe". Craig winced on Clyde's behalf as he saw a wavy blonde head six rows back flash up at the sound of the call, quickly averting his gaze back to Token.

"B-b-b-bebe dumped him," Jimmy stuttered, before grinning and adding mock-conspiratorially, "She w-wanted a man who showered more than th-three times a week."

"Kenny McCormick doesn't even shower  _twice_  a wee-e-eeek," Clyde protested into Token's padded jacket, sobbing violently on the final word whilst several heads turned at the loud outburst.

_If he's not careful, Stan's gang will hear him from all the way up the back..._

"Hey! Shut your mouth, Donovan!"

_... oh good, they've heard._

All four boys looked up at the sound of Kyle Broflovski's indignant voice, turning to see the boy standing up from the backseat of the bus with a scowl. With his arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed beneath the lime green peak of his ushanka, he would have been intimidating if not for the fact that Stan Marsh was unconcernedly holding him back by the hem of his jacket from beside him on the bench seat, scrolling slowly down his phone screen with a bored expression.

"Yeah, Clyde, try not to sound  _too_  bitter," Kenny added in, pushing his hood back from his face so that he could fix them all with one of his infamous shit-eating grins.

Even from the distance between the two opposing groups, Craig could see the missing canine tooth in his smile, the pink of his tongue poking through the gap wolfishly.

"N-no one's bitter here, fellas," Jimmy placated, then seemed unable to resist adding, "We're all just mourning the loss of Bebe's p-previously high standards."

There was laughter from the eavesdropping students, and after pausing briefly he continued with perfect comedic timing.

"We'll be having our memorial service at five, bring c-c-candles and your favourite hymns."

"Ey! How about I  _pound_  your disabled ass at five, Jimmy?" Cartman threatened, always happy to join in on a fight only once he was sure he was on the winning side.

"Did you just offer to p-pound me?" Jimmy asked with a smirk, visibly holding back laughter as the morbidly obese boy nodded vigorously, blissfully unaware of the double meaning.

"Yeah, I'll take you all the way to pound-town!"

"W-wow, will you give me a ride back home too?"

"It's a one-way trip!"

Only Cartman was confused when the entire bus burst out laughing, turning to his friends in a silent appeal for explanation only to see that they too were sniggering. Even Clyde managed to snicker, a silvery mixture of snot and tears still wet on his blotchy face.

Craig smirked at the antics, but found himself unable to laugh as he sat silently watching the scene play out in front of him. It felt more like a film than something he was also a part of, as if a screen separated the boy from the rest of the world. As the numbness ate away at the lining of his insides, he found one other face in the crowd besides Cartman's that wasn't joining in on the mirth.  
Six rows back from him, Bebe Stevens looked furious rather than amused, her heart-shaped face pinched as she openly glared over at all four of them. It felt as if she were trying to burn them into cinders with the heat of her gaze, yet when their eyes met he was surprised to see her visibly soften, looking suddenly fragile in her position between the two bickering groups of boys.

Craig found he didn't feel particularly sorry for her.

" _Ey!_  I'm not gay!" Cartman shouted over the noise, finally getting the joke, before adding in an indignant whine, "If anyone's gay it's Clyde, didn't anyone him sobbing like a girl before?"

"There's nothing gay about crying," Clyde sniffed, wiping his leaking nose on his jacket sleeve, "You'd cry too if your girlfriend left you for the guy who singlehandedly got all the wood glue confiscated from shop class."

"It was never proved that it was  _Kenny_  who was huffing the glue -" Kyle snapped.

"It was," Kenny interjected with a grin.

"- and even if it  _was_ ," Kyle continued as if Kenny hadn't spoken, shooting his friend a glare before stating matter-of-factly, "It wouldn't change the fact that it's still pretty gay to cry."

"It's definitely still pretty gay to cry, dude," Stan agreed, nodding sagely down at his phone screen. Craig wondered how much of the conversation the boy had even heard, or if he just mindlessly backed up his friend regardless of the situation.

"It's interesting you would say that, Stan," He finally spoke up, his voice a flat monotone, "Since I clearly remember finding you crying in the parking lot of the Safeway last Tuesday night."

This was true, as was the fact that the other boy had been so blackout drunk that Laura Tucker had labelled him a charity case and driven him to his house on their way home with an emptied grocery bag sitting on his lap in case he threw up. Craig neglected to share this extra information, watching as Stan's dark eyes narrowed into a glare of utter betrayal over the rows of other students chorusing a taunting "ooooOooOooo" at the revelation.  
Stan had also begged Craig not to tell anyone about the incident, nor why he'd been crying in the first place, but the boy neglected to mention this either as he met his angry gaze with a bored look of his own.

_He agreed with the tub of lard and Broflovski; he brought it on himself._

"You just gonna take that lying down, Stan?" Cartman demanded, then yelled out a challenge without waiting for a reply, "Craig Tucker, Stan chooses you. He's going to beat your ass during recess!"

"Are you sure he's n-not going to  _p-pound_  his ass?" Jimmy interjected in mock-innocence, and this time it was everyone except the boys on the backseat who laughed.

Craig merely nodded, his expression flat with disinterest as he turned back to face the front of the bus, wanting to lean against the window and go to sleep but knowing he had to remain upright. Slouching would be a signal of weakness or fear, of not wanting to accept the challenge that had been laid out before him, and for the sake of appearances he knew he couldn't even so much as hint that this could be the case.

It wasn't that he was particularly interested in what anyone thought of him - especially not Stan's gang - it was merely in the interest of maintaining the one achievement he had made during all his years at schooling; Craig Tucker never backed down from a fight.

And except for once, he'd never lost either.


	3. The Fight I

_\- a memory -_

Snow covered the ground thick and heavy, swallowing all sound and colour from the schoolyard. The coveted slide and jungle gym were empty, the usually wildly spinning merry-go-round sitting stationary.

The students of South Park had found a new form of entertainment.

Children from every year group gathered in a jostling circle around the two boys, heckling and taking bets, and a line was drawn in the snow with a crooked stick broken from the conker tree. It wavered and curved, yet no one seemed to notice but the boy who stood on the left of it, staring at the ground and wondering whether Stan Marsh had purposefully made the playing field uneven or if the boy just naturally screwed up everything he touched.

Beyond the line his opponent jittered with nervous energy, twitching and blinking hard beneath furrowed brows. Clad in only a pair of navy P.E shorts, his bare chest was pale and freckled in the weak mid-morning sunlight.

Craig himself was standing shivering in his tighty-whiteys, wondering how it was that he'd been swindled into this situation. The boys barely knew each other as anything more than a background member of their fourth grade class, and yet there they stood on either side of the demarcation in the snow, ready, waiting.

"Alright! Shoes off!" Cartman called, waddling two and fro at the edge of the fighting circle.

Craig complied, feeling the icy powder beneath his feet sting and bite against his flesh as he kicked his shoes out of the way. Outwardly, he didn't allow his opponent the pleasure of seeing him flinch.

"Okay guys, the rules are simple," Stan read out from a sheet of notebook paper they'd prepared in class earlier that day, "First to freeze loses, first to cry loses, and if you surrender then you're definitely the loser."

_Seems fair._

"Ready Tweek?"

A jittering nod.

"Ready Craig?"

He flipped them all the bird.

"Then let's get it on!" Stan called out, and the spectating children all cheered with excitement.

Craig swallowed back his sense of trepidation, and stepped toward the the pallid, freckled boy who was to be his first ever opponent.


	4. Antagonists Anonymous

_\- in which Craig Tucker adds insult to injury -_

"Thanks for having my back, guys," Clyde mumbled with a small smile, "Kyle scares the shit out of me."

They had finally disembarked from the bus at the gates to South Park High, all four boys walking at a steady pace into the school grounds in an effort to put some distance between Stan's gang and themselves.

"Why?" Token asked, furrowing his brow in confusion at his friend's words.

"He's six foot, always angry, and ginger."

"That's ridiculous," Craig muttered, casting a glance over his shoulder towards where the rival group were dawdling by the bus stop, deep in conversation.

"I'm serious!" Clyde exclaimed, looking wounded that his fear of their classmate was being called irrational, "Underneath that green hat is a curly mop of red hair. It's  _terrifying_."

"Well thanks to y-your utter lack of b-b-balls, Clyde, our p-poor Birthday Boy is going to have to kick Stan's ass," Jimmy admonished the indignant boy, still smirking with a kind of sardonic amusement at the entire situation.

"Sorry Craig."

At the rueful shame in his friend's voice, Craig's irritable demeanour immediately softened. With an affectionate hand he reached out and roughly mussed Clyde's already tangled brown hair, laughing when the other boy yelped and tried to slap the style-ruining fingers away.

"Aw dude, come on! That took me half an hour to get perfect this morning."

Impending brawl forgotten, the four boys began bickering good-naturedly about whether or not half an hour was an excessive amount of time to spend on one's hair, (Clyde arguing no, Jimmy and Token arguing yes, while Craig adjudicated), until it was time for them to split up for class.

Whilst Clyde and Token hurried off to a math test they had, the remaining two boys loitered by the lockers and waited for the crush of students filling the hallways to abate. It was an unspoken agreement between the friends that no man should be left behind, and due to Jimmy's reliance on his crutches to get place to place, the hallways were no place for him during the first mad dash of the morning to get to class. Most days it was Token who stayed with him, but recently Craig had found himself choosing more often to be the one that hung back.  
           Leaning against his own dented green locker, the boy could feel the bumps in his spine pressing cold against the metal as he people-watched.

"Butters got a haircut," He commented flatly to his companion, watching as the elfin blonde boy in question ambled past with his usual glazed expression.

"T-too bad it looks like his dad did it with a b-b-bowl and some kitchen scissors," Jimmy muttered back, his good eye tracing the jagged line of hair at the back of their classmate's head.

"DogPoo Petuski is about to rip into him about it," Craig predicted, watching the infamously filthy kid they had all collectively cursed with the faeces-related nickname marching down the corridor after Butters.

He was messy-haired and scuffed from head to toe, his clothing threadbare from lack of concern rather than being a victim of poverty like Kenny McCormick. As Craig watched, one of the boy's hands, caked in a seemingly irremovable layer dirt, raised in a wordless greeting towards him and Jimmy before smacking down on the back of Butters' skull.

"You look like you've only just escaped from homeschool, Stotch," DogPoo jeered, his usually eloquent voice dripping with derision. The large brown birthmark across his left cheek for which he had been named stretched hideously as he grinned.

"Well jeez, I sorta wish I  _was_  homeschooled when you hit me like that, Petuski," Butters sulked, rubbing the back of his freshly shorn scalp and pouting.

DogPoo looked like he was about to say something withering in reply before another voice rang out across the crowd, obnoxious in its own sense of self-importance.

"Ey! Dog-shit!"

Craig winced at the sound of Cartman's yell, sighing as he drooped just a little further to flatten himself against his locker. It wasn't that he was scared of the swinishly obese boy, it was more the fact that he found him loathsome in every regard. From the petty refusal to acknowledge his own obscene weight to the more concerning malevolent behaviours he'd witnessed over the years from him, Eric Cartman was a being better avoided than confronted.

_Not to mention, if he fell on me during a fight he'd crush me flat._

Despite his worries, the rotund boy waddled past both Craig and Jimmy at speed, his piggy eyes fixated on his latest target: DogPoo. For weeks now this had been the case, much to the confusion of most of the student body. Perhaps it was because the other kid was so ambivalent to any slurs or slights against himself, his skin thick and repellant after years of being called nothing but an insult by his peers, or more likely perhaps it was because DogPoo had beaten Cartman in the Junior girls' online poll last month.

"Get your hand off Butters, you filthy Jew!"

The poll had been a vote on who the most attractive boys in their grade were, published as a lengthy list of every male in the year-group ranked from hottest to ugliest. Cartman had come last, DogPoo second last, and Butters third last.

"I'm sorry to inform you Cartman, but I am not of the Jewish faith," DogPoo replied calmly, before using his hold on Butters' skull to send him sprawling headfirst into the fat boy's generous gut as he laughed, "... but here's your boyfriend back."

Butters had tried to console Cartman when the results of the poll were posted, but in his naivety had thought the best way to do this was to comment an essay-size paragraph on why his obese friend was in fact Very Attractive, and that the girls were Wrong.  
He'd been tied to the flagpole the next afternoon when everyone was leaving school, stripped down to his briefs in the snow and his belongings thrown out across the football field to the right.

"I'm not a fag!" Cartman was screeching, his face screwed up and red with unbridled rage.

It had been Cartman and Stan who had tied Butters up, their faces grim and hateful as their friend begged for mercy. Craig could remember watching them out the window of his final class for the day, his heart aching with pity before the numbness devoured it and left him with nothing once more.

Surely, Butters had brought it on himself.

_Everyone knows what happens to fags in South Park._

 

———————————————

 

It was only after watching Cartman dissolve into a spectacular tantrum over having his sexuality questioned that Craig finally bid farewell to Jimmy and headed off to his Calculus class. The hallways were largely empty as he dawdled towards Room 14, unable to shake the memory of what he'd just witnessed from his mind.  
              Jimmy, DogPoo and the others had all been laughing at Cartman's fury, at his empty threats and oaths, but Craig had been watching Butters. Even as he stared at the speckled grey linoleum floor blur past underfoot, the vivid sight of the other boy's face haunted him with each step.

He'd gone pale and clammy, light blue eyes bulging with fear until they'd begun to resemble those of a fish. If DogPoo had thought to look, Craig was sure he would have delighted in saying that it was the face of a guilty man, but as the boy observed Butters turn grey with terror he had never been more sure that the small blonde wasn't guilty of being gay at all.

He was just so scared of what his peers would do to him if they thought he was.

_Cartman claims to be the dude's friend, as does Stan, but_ _even_ _they still felt the need to punish him on even just the suspicion of homosexuality._

The thought made him frown as he pushed open the door to his calculus classroom, hearing his teacher pause mid sentence at his interruption. With only a dismissive look towards Ms Ellen's glare, Craig wound his way through the filled desks to his usual seat up in the back corner by the window. The sound of him dropping his school bag on the ground at his feet seemed deafening in the pointed silence, but he refused to show even a shred of guilt for disrupting the class as he sunk onto the plastic chair and looked wordlessly towards the front.  
             Every single one of his classmates had turned to watch him, eyes bright with anticipation, save for one boy up the front. Craig ignored the excited stares and focused on the rigid back of the singular focused student instead, waiting with him for the lesson to resume.

"Craig Tucker, do you know how many times you've been late to my class so far this semester?" Ms Ellen asked, red painted nails digging into the piece of chalk she held up to the board so tight he was sure it would snap.

"I don't know," Craig shrugged, already bored of the conversation.

"Take a guess," Ms Ellen invited, her hand travelling to perch on her bony hip as she stared him down.

"I don't know."

He was still refusing to look at her, fixated instead on the back of the boy who had not yet turned around. As he watched, the kid twitched and gave a long tuft of golden hair at the side of his head a sharp tug, as if the tension in the room was too much to bear.

_For you and me both, buddy._

"Your attendance and attention is so lacking, I would be surprised if you knew  _anything_ , Mr Tucker," Ms Ellen continued, her crimson coloured lipstick causing her mouth to look like a curving wound as she smiled cruelly.

_I don't care. I don't care. I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't -_

"How do you expect to get anywhere in life if you don't apply yourself?" The woman continued when he didn't reply, her voice rising in pitch as she began to lose her temper.

_I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE -_

"How do you expect to even  _graduate_  when your test scores are consistently lower than every other student in this class?"

Craig could feel his ears burning, his flat expression beginning to falter and twist into a scowl as his pulse became staccato; everything flushing hot and red through him as the numbness gave out to anger. The emotion was so terrifying he found himself flinching from it, his eyes shutting tightly against the scarlet that had blurred his vision.

_I don't_ **_care_ ** _._

The wave of fury collapsed into cold calm just as quickly as it had swelled, leaving him feeling drained and shivering in its absence. Just for a moment, the world seemed to go still and quiet, before the clock ticked over and Ms Ellen spoke again.

"You might be fine with wasting your own time, but I'm sick of you wasting mine."

As if working on instinctual reflexes, he felt his hand flick up from where it rested on the desktop, his middle finger bared towards the middle-aged woman as if she were nothing more than a stroppy sibling. As their teacher gasped in outrage, the rest of the eagerly spectating class broke out into tittering laughter and muttering, a few of them even going so far as to let out small cheers of encouragement towards their entertainer.

"Mr Mackey's office.  _NOW_ ," Ms Ellen seethed, pointing towards the door with a long finger that quivered with rage.

Craig was only too eager to comply, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and meandering back down through the rows of desks, purposefully taking his time so as to further waste hers. He even slowed down to a snail's pace as he passed the golden boy's desk, just to try and finally distract him from the textbook page he was studying, but the kid never looked up.

"Is this a 'go straight to jail' card or am I at least allowed to pass GO and collect my two-hundred dollars?" He asked when he finally reached Ms Ellen's furious form, keeping his face comically blank as he blinked innocently at her.

Craig watched the woman's nostrils flare in fury at his insolence whilst the class laughed at the quip, and found he was genuinely surprised at himself. He wasn't usually so performative in his defiance towards members of the school faculty, and his own remark had him frowning in confusion.

"GET OUT!" Ms Ellen was bellowing, but the boy was unaffected as he looked back at the still giggling class in bemusement.

Their teeth seemed too white and far too sharp in the cavern of their open mouths, all eyes on him save for one pair; the gold-haired boy up the front. He was still staring resolutely at his textbook, his face a series of sharp angles in profile, and Craig found himself staring at him from the doorway with the strangest sensation sparking in his chest.

Familiarity.

Then Ms Ellen was slamming the door in his face, and the boy found himself gazing into a memory he had almost managed to forget. The fluorescents overhead flickered in a soft strobe as he stood dazed, unable to breathe with the sudden sensation of fevered skin against his skin, of blood in his mouth and the world being blent into snow and sky as they rolled in a tangled tumble.

The golden boy and him; forever ago.

_Tweek Tweak, I remember you._


	5. The Fight II

_\- a memory-_

Craig was skinny and hollow, all bones in the middle of a gangly growth spurt his fellow classmates hadn't yet hit as he'd stepped over the line towards Tweek. His fists hadn't been raised, his stance neither defensive nor offensive as he moved towards his opponent and hoped to god that the other boy at least knew what he was doing.

The gold-haired kid hopped side to side like a boxer, body vibrating with anxious energy as he followed Craig's lead and stepped up to the crooked line drawn between them in the snow. He was short, Craig noticed, much shorter than him, and he let the small fact cloud his judgement as he lunged forward to try and catch his opponent off guard.

A mistake.

Pain lanced through his skull and exploded like fireworks in the darkness behind his eyes as Tweek's fist made contact with his unprotected nose. Knuckles mashed against the cartilage, against the already cold-pinked protrusion, and Craig heard his own cry of pain echo through the playground like the howl of a wounded animal.  
                He stumbled back, clutching his nose and feeling the hot drip of blood seeping from between his fingers as he glared across the line at his opponent. The other boy was pale and shocked, amber eyes blown wide in fright at the scarlet liquid landing stark against the snow. For a moment it seemed as if he might have been about to apologise for what he'd done, but Craig did not wish to give him the chance.

With the salty tang of his own blood in his mouth he threw himself at Tweek, bowling the gold-haired boy over and onto the frozen ground. There was a screech of surprised pain from his opponent as they landed, then the cheers of their classmates rose up to drown out all other sound as the two boys began to all-out brawl in the snow.

Flesh bruised against flesh, limbs tangling and lashing out in the chaos of their anger, the fire of their sudden hate for one another. It was a poked eye for a poked eye, gnashing tooth for gnashing tooth; all fair in love and war but mostly war as far as they were concerned. Every blow was answered, every drop of blood returned in kind, until neither the opponents nor their spectators knew who was winning.

It was the purest of fights, the most animalistic of brawls; everything a heated dance so well matched that before the boy would ever learn technique or strategy, Craig could remember licking the rusted mix of both his and Tweek's blood from his lips.


	6. Counselor Mackey Can Go Get Fucked

_\- in which there are repercussions for reckless actions -_

"Trying to weasel your way out fighting me, Tucker?"

Slouching on one of the seats outside Mr Mackey's office, Craig didn't even so much as look up from his physics notebook at the intruding sound of Stan's voice, instead continuing his blue biro drawing of the man on the moon. He was making him look like the love child of David Bowie and Prince, complete with a futuristic disco jumpsuit.

"No," He answered flatly, finishing the illustration in a few more wobbly pen lines and then immediately beginning to scribble out the entire image.

Stan watched him for a few moments in silence, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly while he waited for Craig to elaborate. When the moody boy refused to explain any further, he sighed into the silence of the hallway.

"You're an asshole, you know that right?"

Craig blinked, the pen between his fingers halting mid-action as he finally looked up at Stan. The boy looked tired and withdrawn, his hair greasy where it poked out from under the red and blue beanie he had been committed to wearing every day of winter for as long as anyone could remember. There was something off about him, like looking at a familiar picture that someone had knocked crooked in its frame, and Craig felt the choking sourness of guilt fill his throat.

" _I'm_  an asshole?" he repeated, meeting Stan's dark gaze with a carefully flat expression.

"Yeah, you are."

"You called my best friend 'gay' for crying, supported Kenny McCormick the toothless wonder in stealing his girlfriend, and let  _Cartman_  challenge me to a fight for you  _on my birthday_ ," Craig drawled, counting each transgression off on a finger as he listed them, "But apparently  _I'm_  the asshole?"

Stan looked aggrieved, his jet black brows knitting together in thought before he finally mumbled, "Yeah well... you promised you wouldn't tell anyone about seeing me at the Safeway."

Craig rolled his eyes and slumped back against the chair, muttering out a grudging "sorry" as the other boy took a seat beside him. Up this close he could smell the bitter scent of spirits on Stan's skin, as if it seeped from his very pores like an alcoholic sweat. It reminded him of his dad, of a phone call he was yet to receive, and it took everything in his power not to cough and shift away.

"So why  _do_  you need to see Mackey, then?" Stan asked casually, all previous animosity absent from his tone now that he had received an apology.

"Flipped off Ms Ellen," Craig shrugged, then smirked as he added, "After being fifteen minutes late from watching Cartman throw a tantrum."

Stan laughed, shaking his head in exasperation at the news of his friend's latest meltdown.

"Let me guess, he was trying to start something with DogPoo and someone brought up Butters' love letter to him?"

Despite having multiple grievances with Stan and his often hypocritical behaviour, Craig found himself grinning and nodding at the quick insight. It was as if the boy exuded an irresistible kind of energy that was shared with whoever he gave his attention to, and even Craig's overdeveloped sense of skepticism was having a hard time holding out against it. Token had often commented that if any of their group were to have even half as much charisma as Stan Marsh then perhaps their gang would enjoy the same benefits as his; never being expected to learn from mistakes and getting endless second chances being only two of them.

"God, I can't stand that guy," Stan continued, still shaking his head in weary disbelief at Cartman's actions.

_Why are you friends with him then?_

No sooner had the thought flickered through Craig's head than Stan was pulling a sheepish expression as if he'd read his mind.

"No one ever escapes anybody, Craig," He said quietly, mouth turned down and bitter, "Whether they're as irredeemable as Eric Cartman or as goddamn perfect as K-"

He cut himself off with a sudden choking cough, pulling a silver flask from inside his jacket pocket and taking a long drink from it as if to soothe his throat. Craig watched the action with an odd sadness sitting heavy within the cage of his ribs, a feeling so profound that even the numb void that ran through the centre of him had trouble swallowing it down.  
               With a shaking hand Stan offered him the flask, and the boy took it from his grasp with a feeling of grim duty. It was half empty and warmed to body-temperature, the stainless steel surface engraved with the cryptic yet concerning message of  _"Happy 13th Birthday Billy, drink up son"_. Placing it against his lips, he took a burning sip of whisky from within instead of saying the name he knew Stan had choked on.

_Kyle Broflovski._

Trying not to splutter at the godawful taste of spirits, Craig motioned with the silver vessel as he handed it back, musing aloud, "I suppose  _this_  had something to do with why you've been sent here?"

Stan laughed hollowly, but their conversation had drawn to a close it seemed as he did not otherwise reply. In a way Craig understood; there was nothing worse than wanting something that was never going to happen, but revealing the heartache of it to one of your long-term rivals? A nightmare.

Kyle had been the subject of Stan's drunken tears that night at the local supermarket; the unknowing reason for the grief that had wracked the boy's body with sobs as he sat on the tray of his dented pickup truck and dissolved into misery. Laura Tucker had made Craig stand with him whilst she brought their station wagon around to collect them both, and it had been with an unrivaled discomfort that he had asked Stan why it was that he was drinking stolen whisky in a nearly-empty car park on a Tuesday night.

_"It's Kyle... He's in love with Heidi," Stan had murmured, his body slumped in defeat._

_"So?" Craig snapped, agitated by the other boy's sudden weight leaning against him for balance. For not the first time during their encounter, he wished his mother wasn't so kindhearted._

_"He should be in love with me."_

Such dangerous words to say aloud. Even now Craig could hear them as they'd fallen tear-stained from between Stan's trembling lips, landing heavy in his hands and whispering of all the damage he could do if he dared repeat them.  
               With that single sentence of slander whispered into a classmate's ear, Craig could have his rival stripped bare and tied to the flagpole out by the football field before the end of the school day. He could watch him be beaten up, banished from the boy's locker room for being a "pervert", and ostracized from not only his peers but also the small-minded town of South Park as a whole.

Craig Tucker could ruin the other boy; they both knew it as they sat together in the deserted corridor, waiting for an answer to a question no one had been brave enough to ask.

"I'm not telling anyone," He finally said into the silence, feeling Stan jolt in his seat beside him.

Whatever response he might have had was interrupted however as the door to Mr Mackey's office suddenly opened, a victoriously grinning Cartman heaving himself out of the room with DogPoo Petuski sullenly following after.

"... and while you're in detention you can think about how calling people 'homosexual' can hurt their feelings, mm'kay?" Mr Mackey was droning to DogPoo, seemingly unaware of how gleeful the supposed "victim" in the situation truly was.

"Craig, how  _surprising_  to see  _you_  here," Cartman acknowledged him snidely, the sarcasm in his tone far from subtle.

Unruffled by the remark, Craig was about to dismissively flip him the bird when the boy beside him spoke up.

"Lay off Cartman, you fat piece of shit."

The cutting remark left behind a deafening silence, DogPoo and Mr Mackey looking entirely taken aback whilst Cartman was for once rendered speechless, his multiple chins wobbling alarmingly as his mouth fell open. Craig couldn't help but momentarily allow himself to smirk at their comically shocked reactions towards Stan coming to his defence, before the sense of amusement dissolved back into static.

_He's not my friend, he's just trying to stay on my good side in case I change my mind about keeping quiet._

The thought was bitter as it pulled itself bleak and slimy through his skull, making his mouth twist with distaste.

"Hey uh, that's not a nice thing to call someone, mm'kay?" Mr Mackey finally managed to respond, his voice remaining it's usual monotone as if Stan had called Cartman a nincompoop as opposed to an obese turd.

"Anyway, I'm not fat, I'm just big boned!" Cartman whined, before scowling at Craig and adding threateningly, "You're still getting your ass kicked at recess,  _F_ _ucker_ , don't think you can trick Stan into going easy on you."

"Okay," He agreed flatly, relaxing back into his seat while the larger boy fumed at his lack of reaction.

"No, not 'okay' Craig, mm'kay? Fighting is, uh... fighting is bad," Mr Mackey tried to admonish, but none of the boys were listening to him as they stared each other down.

"I've got twenty bucks riding on you going down in the first five minutes," Cartman gloated, reaching out with a podgy hand to pat the yellow puffball atop Craig's hat, much to the boy's annoyance.

"Well get ready to throw your money away," He drawled in response, trying to retain his air of detached calm as he swatted the unwanted touch from his head. It only half worked.

"Now boys, cool it down, mm'kay -?"

"Fuck you, Craig," Cartman snapped, cutting Mr Mackey off mid-sentence, "You crooked-toothed little mama's boy."

"Hey now -"

"Get fucked Cartman, you overfed tub of lard," Craig spat in response, launching to his feet as the violence of his temper flared.

The overweight boy shied away from the movement, stepping back in line with the inept school counselor for protection before resuming his attack.

"I know this may be hard for someone as  _stupid_  as you to understand, Craig, but for the  _final_  time; I AM NOT FAT, I'M BIG BONED."

At the word "stupid", Craig flinched. It was a brief ripple in his stoic exterior, hurt flickering within the depths of his eyes for but a fraction of a second, but Cartman caught it. The grin that spread across his flabby jowls was razor sharp as he pressed his advantage in the presence of weakness.

"It's just  _so sad_  watching your tiny mind try to grapple with even the simplest of facts... We all get depressed when Ms Ellen calls on you to solve equations in calculus class," Cartman mock-consoled him, changing his tone to one of innocence as he delivered the final verbal punch, "Heyyy, maybe that's why your dad left? He was too embarrassed to have a moronic faggot for a son?"

The world went red.

Vision obscured by a thick cloud of rage, there was suddenly no sound save for the roaring of the blood in his ears, the thunderous drumbeat of his heart. The empty echoing vessel of his body filled with a heated hate, and without control of his actions Craig found himself launching towards Cartman with his hands curled to fists.

"Dude! Wait!" Stan shouted, but he sounded as if he were a million miles away to the incensed boy as knuckles collided with delicate cartilage.

There was a sickening crunch as Cartman's nose received the blow, the boy going down like a tonne of bricks onto the scuffed linoleum of the hallway floor. Craig stood seething over him, feeling the sting of the impact still singing across the skin of his curled fingers.

"Aw, fuck dude," Stan mumbled to no one in particular as Cartman gurgled and spat blood from his mouth.

"Nice going with the Mega-Fist Punch," DogPoo commented dryly, naming the attack as if it were the fighting move of some kind of tacky video game character.

Craig barely had time to flash an unimpressed scowl towards his filthy classmate before he felt his wrist encircled in an iron-like grip, the usually passive Mr Mackey angrily gritting his teeth as he manhandled the boy into his office and slammed the door behind them. Pushed roughly into the all-too familiar chair that faced the counselor's wooden desk, Craig yanked his arm from the restraining force of the man's hand.

"Craig, I've tried being understanding, mm'kay?"

Mr Mackey braced himself against the back of his swivel desk chair, his weedy body making the disproportionate size of his head seem even larger in comparison. His gaze was on his desktop instead of Craig's face, his shoulders hunched with tension as he continued speaking in measured tones.

"Due to your current situation at home, the entire school board has been making exceptions for you and your behaviour time and time again."

_What exceptions? I'm in detention every other day, I'm made an example of in front of my classmates, and so far this month I've spent more time kicked out of class_ _es_ _than actually being in one._

Barely managing to hold his tongue, Craig continued staring straight ahead as the man finally sighed and looked up.

"I'm tired of seeing you in my office, young man," He informed the boy as if the revelation would be news to him, silvered eyebrows pulling together in a frown, "You get sent here  _every day_ , Craig."

"I know."

"Why can't you behave?" Mr Mackey demanded, losing his patience.

Craig shrugged, voice flat as he replied with his go-to response, "I don't know."

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

The boy was silent, blinking slowly at the counselor as the man's large oval face began to flush.

"Well, I'll tell you what, young man," Mr Mackey continued, clearing his throat as he picked up a printed sheet from his desk and glanced at it before addressing Craig once more, "Uh, you're gonna be held back a grade if you don't sta-- Did you just flip me off?"

The boy, having already placed his hand back into his pocket, blinked innocently at the exasperated man.

"No?"

"Yes you did, you just flipped me the bird! Now, see? This is exactly what I'm talking about! If you don't shape up, mm'kay, and get your head straight, uh -" Mr Mackey abruptly cut off as he once more was flashed with a brief vision of Craig's middle finger, spluttering out, "Th-there! You just flipped me off again!"

"No I didn't," Craig denied breezily, maintaining a straight face despite the sardonic laughter that was attempting to escape up through his chest.

"Yes you did!" The poor counselor fumed, at his wit's end, "And until you stop flipping people off like a child, you'll be treated like a child."

"You're going to give me a smack and send me to bed without dinner?" Craig asked in a slow drawl, watching Mr Mackey's complexion turn from a mottled pink to a deep ruddy hue.

"No!" He snapped, before brandishing the printed sheet of paper high in the air like a weapon as he continued, "You're going to lose the privilege of having sole responsibility for yourself and your education, mm'kay."

"So... you're going to assign someone to hold my hand while I do tests and assignments?" The boy queried slowly, playing dumb whilst the gears and cogs within his mind spun into overdrive behind the facade.

_Whatever the fuck is on that paper he keeps waving around, it's not good news..._

He was guessing it was a behavioural report from Ms Ellen; the woman had threatened sending one home to his mom a few times now yet never made good on her threat. Either that, or it was another one of his teachers who had penned down their concerns and sent it in to the useless school counselor in an effort to force the boy to cease and desist.

"Do you know what an ultimatum is, Craig?" Mr Mackey asked, resolutely pretending not to have heard the sarcastic response.

"No," He lied, feeling the prickle of trepidation run it's unfamiliar fingertips down his spine.

"Mm'kay, well I'm not surprised," The man muttered in reply, calming down now he felt he had taken back control of the situation, "But uh, here's an ultimatum for you anyway: on this printout I have a record of your GPA for the year so far, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it's the lowest in your year-group. You're rude, unmotivated, and have a reputation for starting fisticuffs with other students."

_That's not an ultimatum, Mr Mackey you_ _swine_ _; that's a fucking character assassination._

Without waiting for a reply, the school counselor continued, "But even South Park believes in second chances, so I'm going to pair you with a student who shares most of your classes, mm'kay, and they're going to tutor you until your grades make an improvement."

_There's no way in hell I'm going to let some fuckwit from this school become my_ _"_ _study buddy_ _"_ _._

"... and what if they don't improve?" Craig heard himself ask, surprised when his voice rasped in fear at the potential answer. He cringed inwardly at how revealing it was.

"Then you'll be repeating Junior year until they do, mm'kay?" Mr Mackey declared, smiling triumphantly as the boy who sat sullen and disobedient across from him every day for once looked terrified at the possible consequences of his actions.

_Repeating... the year..._

The colour was leaving Craig's face as he slumped forward, catching his head in his hands and staring into the void that had opened up in front of him. Lungs constricting, he felt his mouth gaping uselessly open as he tried to draw breath into the traitorous organs, ears filling with the godawful sound of his own desperate choking.

_No no please no please no no no_ _-_

Mr Mackey was no longer looking so pleased with himself, face crumpling into wrinkled concern as he watched the boy's carefully constructed armor of apathy come undone. His slender hands were turning to fists that pressed white-knuckled against the hollows of his eye sockets, tendons standing out in his wrists and neck as the entirety of his body tensed to breaking point.

_I CAN'T STAY HERE IN THIS PLACE, I CAN'T RELIVE THIS YEAR I'D RATHER DIE I'D RATHER BE DEAD -_

"Craig?"

Mr Mackey's usually dull and droning voice was steeped in genuine worry, and the boy flinched as he felt the man's supposedly comforting hand fall against his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Craig responded flatly, sitting up as if he'd been electrocuted by the unwelcome physical contact.

He found he could breathe again, panting slightly for a few ragged inhalations before collecting himself and allowing the hysteria to be eaten by the numbness, an old faithful friend. Only the red marks around his eyes that had been left by the indentation of his knuckles gave any clue to the emotional chaos that had been controlling him just moments before.

"... mm'kay," Mr Mackey intoned slowly, as if trying to approach a wild animal, "Well lets uh, maybe postpone the tutor plan for now. Would you find that preferable?"

Craig nodded wordlessly.

"Alright, you have one last chance, mm'kay?" The man warned him gently, moving exhaustedly to sit at his desk, "One last chance to prove you can pull yourself out of this downwards spiral, but after that I'm putting my foot down."

"Okay," Craig agreed, feeling relief wash through him momentarily at the idea that he wouldn't be put through the embarrassment of being assigned a tutor.

Mr Mackey began writing notes, and the boy took it as his cue to leave. Rising from the uncomfortable interrogation chair, he turned towards the door without another word, utterly drained as he reached for the handle.

"One last thing, Craig."

He paused but didn't glance back, waiting with his hand gripped tight around the doorknob.

"Yes?"

There was a moment's silence, then the sound of the man clearing his throat uncomfortably before he spoke once more.

"I know your parents' divorce last year was hard for you to come to terms with -"

_It wasn't._

"- but it doesn't mean you've got to throw the rest of your life away, mm'kay?"

_I don't care._

He made sure to slam the door on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but I just had to include dialogue from that scene in Rainforest Shmainforest I fuckin love it so much


	7. An Ultimatum

_\- in which Craig Tucker is a coward, in more than one way and for more than one reason -_

He was going to drop out of school.

The boy had decided it the moment the door thudded closed, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached with the pressure. He heard Stan call his name questioningly from where he still waited on the set of seats lined up against the wall, but Craig was already marching off down the hallway, hands flexing in and out of fists at his sides.   
                Mr Mackey could forget the second chances and tutorships for all he cared; he didn't want them. Even just the idea of spending another moment in the dull grey buildings was enough to make him sick, his skin prickling and flushing with that same strange nausea he'd felt in the counselor's office just moments ago.

By the time he had made it to the front entrance of the school, Craig was gasping for air, holding the navy front of his jacket in one tight fist over his heart whilst the other clawed uselessly at his throat. It felt as if it had swollen to the point of being blocked, and no amount of dry-mouthed swallowing would clear the hard lump from the passage.   
                 Pushing out through the double glass doors, the cold outside hit him like a physical barrier, the wind sweeping falling snowflakes into his eyes and face. The shock of the sudden shift in temperature jerked him from the irrational panic that had been strangling him, and the boy gulped in the frigid air with relief.

_I'm not staying here._

The thought settled down in the pit of his stomach, calming him enough that he could begin carefully reconstructing his walls of defence, allowing the large emptiness to creep back up inside and swallow him whole. The lonely humming of it's static wasn't an enjoyable sensation, but it was at least bearable when compared to the horror of the emotions it kept at bay; a sadness, yes, but a sadness he chose.

Grabbing out his phone, he quickly typed into google, "how old do you have to be to drop out of school in Colorado" before hitting the search bar. When the results loaded, they were pointing in favour of seventeen being the minimum age to leave without parental permission, and he allowed himself a small smile of genuine relief.

_No more of this torturous hellhole; what a good birthday present._

It was with the lightest spirits he'd had in months that Craig set off across the snow-laden expanse of the schoolyard, hearing the sounds of the freshmen's P.E class grumbling as they helped Coach Turner sweep snow off the football field as he passed by. The flag rippled in the breeze, pulling against its moorings on the pole as if wanting to break free, and Craig found himself queasy as he recalled in vivid detail the sight of Butters struggling to untie himself from the base of it.

He gave it a wide berth.

Still considering whether to text any of his friends about his unofficial early mark from school, it completely took the boy by surprise when he heard a familiar voice calling his name from across the front lawn.

"Craig! Wait up!"

_What the fuck does he want_ **_now?_ **

Without looking back, Craig paused in the snow, breathing deeply through his nose to try and expel his irritation as he waited for Stan to catch up. The confusingly fickle boy arrived at a slight jog, moving swiftly to block his view of the gate with a concerned frown.

"Can I help you?" Craig drawled, raising a single eyebrow in mocking question.

"Dude, don't be a dick," Stan reproached him, shaking his head with an exasperated smile beginning to pull at his mouth.

Craig couldn't help but wonder if the other boy would have been so quick to call him out if Butters had been present, but he didn't mention it.

"Okay, I'm a dick, and you're always drunk at school," The boy conceded in a deadpan, "Now that we've both made observations about one another, could you just tell me what you want? I have places to be."

To his surprise, Stan laughed, the sound beginning like a cough and then turning into a snorting giggle that Craig was sure he should have been self-conscious about anyone hearing.

"I was just going to ask if you were okay since you looked pretty pissed off leaving Mackey's, but I can see you're fine," Stan finally managed to wheeze out, bending over slightly with his hands on his knees as if he'd just run a marathon and needed to catch his breath, "You can get back to truanting now."

"I'm not truanting," Craig smirked, enjoying the poetic justice that it would be his schoolyard rival that would be the first to know, "I'm dropping out."

Annoyingly, Stan looked disappointed rather than shocked at the revelation, frowning across at him with his dark brown eyes narrowed. Under the scrutiny, Craig found himself defensively crossing his arms over his chest and setting his jaw like a petulant child.

"I guess we won't be having that fistfight after all," was all Stan ended up saying however, nodding slowly as if figuring something out before adding, "Mackey finally managed to scare you out of school, did he?"

Craig's voice came out flat and nasal as he replied in a terse, "No."

Stan nodded again, pulling his flask out and holding it up in a silent toast to the boy across from him. For a moment Craig thought he might be mocking him, but realised as he watched him take a large swig of the sour liquid inside that it was a genuine sentiment.

"Well I guess I'll be seeing you around then," Stan said by way of farewell, stepping aside with a crooked smile as he added, "But if you change your mind, I'll be happy to fight you tomorrow."

"Wow, thanks," Craig muttered, but found himself giving the boy a small smile back, careful not to show his teeth.

For a moment they weren't rivals, not even a couple of South Park's favourite fuckups; just two boys standing out in the snow and pretending neither of them found it sad that they had only just started to get along now that things had come to an end.

"Happy birthday, Tucker."

"Take it easy, Marsh."

Then Craig was walking past him and out towards the gate, hearing the boy behind him still laughing as he called out to his retreating back.

"When have I ever done otherwise?"

 

———————————————

 

He'd never liked being in the house, even before the divorce. It was a space for arguments that went on for hours and silence that filled rooms to the brim, for the sound of his mom crying in his parent's bedroom while his dad sat downstairs and worked on model ships in glass bottles, completely untroubled by her misery.  
                 The man was now absent, but the memories remained, like the abuse they had all lived through had imprinted the space with ridged notches like those on a vinyl record. If Craig ran his palms along the walls he was sure the raised voices of the Tucker family would play out as if he were a human grammar phone.

All that sadness, all that pain.

Craig didn't mind it so much when it was only him that was home, however. Walking through the front door and being unexpected to greet anybody, hearing nothing but his own soft footsteps on the cream carpet and his bag thudding down beside the couch; there was no pressure, no expectations.

Kicking off his shoes in the general direction of the doorway, the boy threw himself down on the lounge face first and yawned into the well-worn velveteen cushion. Eyes closed and nose snubbed up against the soft material, he tried to remember the dream he'd been having just before he'd woke that morning.  
               There'd been something about stars, and a glowing warmth he'd reached for through the endless darkness of space.

_How lame can I get?_

Wrinkling his nose at the pathetically wistful sentimentality of it all, Craig wriggled around to face the television and grabbed the remote off the coffee table in front of him. He was no longer in the mood to think; not about school or the soon to be lack of it, nor a fight he'd walked away from or Bebe Stevens breaking Clyde's heart. Most of all, he definitely didnt want to waste time trying to remember pointless dreams about being an astronaut.

The TV flickered to life, footage of a overly-dramatic cooking show playing across the screen in hyper-colour. Trying not to roll his eyes at the deep-voiced narrator describing a contestant accidentally burning a soufflé as a "tragedy in the kitchen", Craig quickly changed the channel to AV and pressed play on the film that had been left paused halfway through.

_"It doesn't make sense,"_ Warrant Officer Ellen Ripley was saying onscreen, _"It paralyses him, puts him into a coma, then keeps him alive."_

The boy had seen the film enough times to be able to quote it, but he gladly left the line to Sigourney Weaver as he settled back down against the cushions. Lying out across the entirety of the couch, he couldn't help but frown as he tried to recall the last time he'd been able to fit on it without his long legs hanging over the end. It wasn't the final time, but in his mind's eye he could himself fitting perfectly between each rounded arm of it, grinning ear to ear as the triumphant Red Racer won a Grand Prix onscreen.

_I wish they still aired that show, even if it were just reruns._

_Alien_  continued playing in the background as he allowed his eyelids to droop, a sudden fatigue overcoming him as he watched the crew of the spaceship  _Nostromo_  try and surgically remove the face-hugger from their Executive Officer's face.

_Don't bother, the guy is already getting eaten from the inside by a xenomorph baby..._

The thought trailed into nothingness as his eyes fell closed, the last thing he saw onscreen being the visceral image of the alien-victim's chest bursting open in a spray of gore. He'd seen it so many times that the violence wasn't scary anymore, but the idea of the parasite left him chilled to the bone.

Not quite asleep but well on his way towards it, the boy slipped probing fingers beneath his shirt and pressed them against the warmth of his own chest, feeling the ridges where his ribs met his sternum. He searched for a sign that there was something else in there, behind the bone and sinew, devouring him from the inside out; an insidious source for the hollow numbness he'd been feeling for so long. Pushing to the point of pain, pulling at the skin as if he could roll it aside and delve deeper, there was nothing except his own flesh that he could find, no parasite he could blame for the emptiness that was growing inside him.

Listening to the film as background noise instead of properly watching it, he was soon fast asleep and dreaming again, his lips parted against the sofa cushion propped beneath his head so that it didn't take long for a dark patch of drool to start spreading across the material.  
He was still lying there at 4pm when Tricia got home from school, throwing her schoolbag on top of his lanky form in a well-practiced movement. The weight of it landed square on his butt, jolting him out of his doze with a irritated grunt.

"You're in such deep shit, Mom's been trying to reach you all day," She informed him peevishly, snatching the tv remote off the coffee table and turning off the DVD menu screen of  _Alien_  before clarifying, "School called her to report you ditching all your classes."

"Okay."

"Really? That's all you've got?" Tricia snapped, rolling her eyes back into her skull.

Craig shrugged, pushing her schoolbag off himself and sitting up slowly, his muscles stiff from lack of use. His sister looked decidedly unimpressed by his nonchalant response, but after a scrutinising him for a few moments longer she merely sighed and switched the tv channel over to a rerun of  _Family Ties_  that was just starting. In silence the two siblings watched the intro, a montage of the fictional family playing out to a corny eighties duet about love.

"I bet it's the episode where Jennifer complains about  _Huckleberry Finn_  being on the banned books list," Tricia wagered dismissively, heading towards the kitchen as she called over her shoulder, "Tell me when Alex P. Keaton is onscreen."

Craig nodded but said nothing, too trapped in his own thoughts to tease his sister about her crush on the charmingly conniving eldest son of the too-wholesome-to-be-true Keaton family. He tried not to be childishly bitter as the episode began and he was treated to a view of the characters all bickering good-naturedly, none of them raising their voices in genuine anger or threatening one another. It was borderline sickening.

Despite his objections to the enviable antics onscreen, the boy didn't change the channel as he eased back into the sofa, leaving room for Tricia when she returned with a bowl of cereal from the kitchen. Plonking herself down beside him, she shovelled Cheerios into her mouth while intently watching the handsome young man on the television deliver some line about his head and body being a perfect set.

_I suppose he's not wrong._

Without verbal complaint he watched it, blank-faced but content as the exact episode his sister had predicted played out across the screen. Not that he'd ever doubted her; they'd sat together and watched endless reruns of the series on weekday afternoons for as long as he could remember. _Family Ties_  was Tricia's favourite show, and without changing the tv channel after it rolled its credits they would sit and watch his show of choice play straight after.

As long as nothing got in the way of Craig Tucker watching  _Star Trek_  after school, life was bearable.

Finally checking his phone after ignoring it all day, the boy frowned at the nine missed calls from him mom, as well as a text from Clyde which read, _"Dude u gone AWOL? Take me w/ u next time lmao"_. He ignored all of the notifications and shoved the thing back in his pocket, returning his attention to the television as if he didn't find the impending wrath of his mother more than slightly nerve wracking.

When Laura Tucker did return home from her job at the bank, she walked in ready to fight, her handbag clutched in a white-knuckled grip as she came to stand in front of the TV. Craig blinked, his view of Captain Kirk and Spock having a tender moment blocked by her apple-green pencil skirt.

"Explain yourself."

His mom's voice was icy, settling into the room like winter frost as the boy kept his gaze trained on what little of the screen he could see past her, feeling his mouth go dry.

"I'm dropping out," He tried to say firmly, but his tongue clicked against the suddenly parched surface of his mouth and the words came out raspy and uncertain.

"Like hell you are," Laura Tucker snapped in response, crossing her arms over her chest before adding tersely, "Look at me, Craig."

He did, dragging his gaze up to meet hers and flinching at the look of disappointed exhaustion written across her face. Dark blue eyes on light ones; both the son and his mother at their breaking point as they each tried to find a path out of the stalemate they had reached together.

"You've made it so far, sweetheart, why would you give up now?" She asked him, voice softening as she watched his facade of carelessness falter.

"I'm not giving up," Craig mumbled, breaking their eye contact to look down at his hands.

"Well what are you going to do if you quit? Where will you work?"

Shifting in discomfort at the interrogation, the boy was hyperaware of his little sister also scrutinising him from her spot on the sofa. It felt like being backed into a corner by the two pairs of hard stares, and he didn't bother responding to the questions his mother had asked; they all knew he didn't know their answers.

"Munchkin, you always wanted to be so many different things when you were small," Laura sighed, stooping to cup his chin in her gentle hand, "If you now decide to become nothing, it will be the saddest thing to have come out of your father and I's marriage."

_Even sadder than the divorce? Even sadder than the bruises and the screaming and all the belongings he never came to collect from the house? Sadder than that?_

Craig scowled down at his hands, refusing to reply as he willed the numbness up and over his head. He wanted it to swallow him whole, to submerge him in the static and kill the memories that were starting to bubble up through the darkness of his body. The silence mounted, tense and uncomfortable.

In the end it was Tricia who spoke up, tentative from beside him.

"If you don't make it to graduation, you'll be letting all those jerks on the school board who said you couldn't make it win," She said, her words growing more and more resolute as she continued, "You'll be backing down from the biggest fight of your life."

Memories flickered like fireworks in the dark. A line drawn in the snow and a golden boy beyond it. Blood dripping thick and hot against his hands, his lips, his tongue. He could almost taste it as he turned to look at his sister, her gaze feeling too old and too tired for someone so young.

Through in the kitchen, the telephone rang.

All three of them froze and listened to it, breath held and hearts beating hard in fear as they waited for someone, anyone, to go pick it up. It rang out, and the voicemail system clicked as it began playing the caller's message aloud as they recorded it.

_"Hey kiddo, it's uh... it's just me. Just wanted to say happy birthday and all that... feels weird having to do this over the phone heh but, well, you know... Happy birthday son. Call me when you get this."_

The call ended, the machine beeping to alert them it had saved a message as all three of them released a breath they hadn't realised they'd been holding. Craig found that the strange lump in his throat was back, swelling into a large aching blockage that hurt to try and speak past.

"I'll go back to school tomorrow if you don't make me call him back, Mom," He murmured, voice strained and eyes stinging for reasons he couldn't fathom.

Laura hesitated for an indecisive moment before nodding, her face creased with distress. Tricia looked worriedly between her mother and her brother, before sighing as she got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen. The other two remained silent as they listened to her deleting the message from the answering machine.

"Thank you," Craig coughed out past the lump in his throat, though to which family member he was thanking no one was entirely sure.

With his face turned away so that his mother couldn't see the moisture welling across his vision, the boy left the room without another word, taking the stairs quickly despite every step being blurred. Yet instead of immediately retreating into his bedroom, he took a detour by the small room at the end of the hall that his father had previously used as a study.  
                Pushing open the varnished timber door, Craig crept into the space as if walking on eggshells, greeted by the stale air of a room that was no longer used often. A dust-mote danced across the floorboards in the block of orange light cast by the setting sun through the window, but otherwise everything was still and lifeless within the deserted space.

Laura Tucker had been talking about cleaning out the study for months, but seemingly could not bring herself to go through her husband's unclaimed belongings. However, it had been at the first time she mentioned her plans to do so that Craig had realised how much he didn't want her to. The boy couldn't explain it, but the idea of the space existing in their house without his dad's crappy old PC sitting on the desk, of his record player and collection of vinyl lining the shelves on every available wall, or even his teetering piles of documents that he'd never bothered to put in the filing cabinet, was unbearable. At the thought he might lose these final relics of the absent man's previous presence, Craig had begun sneaking into the study like an archeologist into a tomb in a final effort to decode what kind of person his father had been; to try and understand why things had fallen apart the way they did.

The only thing of true interest had been the record collection, and it was this that the boy had since dedicated many months listening to. Starting with one side of the shelves and working his way over, he'd selected an LP every week and then played it over and over until he knew the album back to front. Not on the actual record player of course, but back in the safety of his bedroom through his phone and headphones, lest anyone else in the family were to hear him and think something stupid like that he missed his dad.

That day, for his seventeenth birthday, Craig picked a record by the  _Beach Boys_  called 'Pet Sounds', and after sneaking back out of the study and into his still-dark bedroom he searched it up on Spotify, plugged in his headphones, and played it.

Lying on his back in his messy bed, he closed his eyes and listened to the first few chords play, a refrain that was both sweetly joyous and melancholy at the same time.

_"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older_   
_Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?_   
_And wouldn't it be nice to live together_   
_In the kind of world where we belong?"_

The sentiment was so unpretentiously tender that the numbness couldn't consume it; couldn't pull the loving words down into the endless emptiness that lived inside him. It struggled, whining like a wounded animal, before collapsing inwards and leaving Craig alone with the music from his father's collection.

_"You know it seems the more we talk about it_   
_It only makes it worse to live without it_   
_But let's talk about it_   
_Oh, wouldn't it be nice?"_

It was only then, unprotected in the dark, that the tears finally came.


	8. The Final Straw

_\- in which a last chance is blown -_

Clyde was giving out fight programs on the bus the next morning, tears and heartbreak seemingly forgotten as he marched up and down the aisle trying to sell them to sophomores and freshmen for 20 cents apiece. The students from their actual year refused to pay, but still happily grabbed for the printouts when they were grudgingly offered to them for free.  
                To all the onlookers surprise, even Bebe Stevens took one from her recently made  _ex_ -boyfriend as he passed her seat, and the two shared a small smile. Craig noted sourly that the crinkly blonde haired girl was sitting with Wendy Testaburger instead of her own current boyfriend, Kenny, and wondered idly if the two had broken up after only a day of dating.

_Maybe that's why Clyde is in such a good mood..._

Despite being glad his friend was feeling better after yesterday, it still took everything in Craig's power not to look visibly irritated by the sales operation as a whole, muttering under his breath to an equally unimpressed Token, "I can't tell if he's seriously trying to capitalise on my pain or if he's being ironic."

Token grimaced, sighing as he watched the stout boy in question almost fall over as the bus went around a corner at speed.

"He was up all night sending me drafts of that stupid pamphlet, so I'd say he's serious."

When Craig finally managed to snatch one of the inkjet printouts from Clyde's hands, he was further aggravated when he saw it included the odds of the fight, which he was proudly informed had been mathematically worked out by Jimmy. They were not in his favour.  
              Clyde had used his limited knowledge of Microsoft Paint and Publisher to mock up some predictive fight snapshots throughout the leaflet, most of which depicted Stan Marsh with two black eyes and Craig with a broken nose that was bleeding down his poorly rendered face. As the boy looked at the hideous portrait, he could only shake his head in disbelief at the amount of effort that had gone into it.

"Clyde, you haven't made a program for one of my fights since sixth grade," He said in genuine confusion, still staring down at the A5 booklet in his hand, "Why did you decide to start again now?"

Clyde looked pleased with himself, slowly counting the abundance of nickels and dimes lining his letterman jacket pocket.

"Two reasons," He replied, holding up the correct amount of fingers so close to Craig's face that they became blurry, "Number one, because I'm a good and supportive friend who wants to commemorate your duel of honour over my girlfriend getting stolen by a glue sniffer."

Jimmy openly laughed at his reasoning, interrupting to suggest, "Is n-n-number two that you wanted to make some petty cash f-fast?"

Clyde shot him a wounded look, pointedly returning the coins to his pocket in a clatter of metal. Jimmy only chuckled again at this, and was treated to a peevish scowl from the easily-offended boy.

" _No,_ " He said firmly, "Reason number two is that Craig Tucker versus Stan Marsh will be the showdown of the century."

Although Craig personally felt like his friend was grossly exaggerating, it was clear by the excitement of his peers on the bus as well as the loud chattering and boasting coming from Stan's gang on the backseat that Clyde wasn't the only one who thought the upcoming fistfight would be one to remember. It made sense he supposed, since he'd fought all the other members of the rival gang on separate occasions previously, yet had never gone head to head with their leader before.   
                 Cartman had already posted an exceptionally well photoshopped version of the famous picture of Muhammad Ali standing over the first round knockout Sonny Liston on Facebook the night before, although in Cartman's remix Stan's face was pasted over Ali's, and Craig's over the defeated opponent's. Despite the school-wide contempt for the unrelenting obese boy, his post had gotten a lot of positive attention, which had only made him cockier that it was his friend (and therefore his gang) who was destined to win.

In a way, Craig blamed himself entirely. When he usually was challenged to fight someone, the event would happen on the same day, usually within minutes or at most a few hours of the call to arms. This was very little time for people to get hyped up on possible winners or losers, and definitely not enough time for someone to get creative on photoshop or calculate then circulate the gambling odds.

_If I had just kept a level head yesterday instead of getting all emotional in Mackey's office, none of this bullshit would be happening._

Stan had messaged him for the first time ever on Facebook chat that morning, asking if he'd changed his mind on the whole dropping out situation. Craig had stared at the notification on his phone screen, reading it over and over as he tried to figure out the other boy's ulterior motives. He'd ended up waiting so long that another message popped up whilst he was still deliberating, taking him by surprise.

7:32 am |  **Stan Marsh:** _"Dude, be warned, I think Cartman and Kyle want me to kick your head in"_

With an eye roll he finally responded.

7:33 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"Ok."_

He had thought the short answer would deter the other boy, but barely a few seconds seemed to have passed before his phone buzzed again.

7:33 am |  **Stan Marsh:**  " _A man of few words, I see. I respect that"_

7:33 am |  **Stan Marsh:** _"I'm often described as 'the strong silent type' myself"_

Craig had smirked at that, almost able to hear Stan's jokingly self-deprecative tone as he read the words onscreen.

7:34 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"Prove it."_

7:34 am |  **Stan Marsh:** _"ahahaHAHAHAHHAHA"_

7:34 am |  **Stan Marsh:** _"You're killing me, Tucker, save those headshots for recess today"_

It had bothered him at the time that his opponent was so sure they'd be facing off at school that day, but now that he was sitting amongst the blatant betting and excited chattering on the bus to school, he understood he'd never really had a choice in the matter. Either he would fight or he wouldn't, he'd be a man of his word or a lying coward; a phone call would be ignored or it would be returned.

_Third option: the phone call is ignored and the message erased by your little sister, who when it comes down to it has bigger balls than you._

The boy flinched as the unwelcome recollection of his birthday dinner with his family last night came to mind, the empty seat at their dining table becoming a palpable source of aching tension the longer they all tried to avoid looking at it. The strained mood in the house had only lightened briefly when Tricia gave him his own  _Alien_  DVD wrapped up in pink polka dotted paper and a bow as his birthday present, stating that she just wanted to give him something she knew he liked. Craig had flipped her off in response, but couldn't help but laugh along as his sister dissolved into hysterics at his baffled expression upon first opening it.   
                A letter had arrived from his grandma in the mail that contained a cheque for fifty dollars and a card asking him if he'd seen his father recently, which although he binned quickly after reading, soured the mood once more. Lastly, his mom had given him a hand-knitted jumper he'd been pretending not to see her making the past few weeks, smiling sadly as she murmured that he'd get a better present next year when money wasn't so tight.

The look on her face had been so wholeheartedly apologetic that Craig had immediately pulled the lovingly-made yet slightly lumpy thing on, and had worn it to school that day as well. Despite the glaringly obvious hole in the sleeve where she'd dropped two stitches, as well as the little yellow star she'd knitted into the left-hand side of the royal blue chest front, it was worth wearing just to see her beaming joyfully that he liked his gift after all.

It was the hem of this wool garment that Bebe tugged on while she and Wendy followed Craig off the bus when they finally arrived at school, her face flushing ever so slightly pink as he turned around and gave her a cold glare. Clyde grinned broadly from beside him, seeming to have entirely forgotten that the girl had deemed him "too short" to continue dating less than forty-eight hours ago.

"Ready for the big fight then, Craig?" Bebe asked coyly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His face entirely impassive, Craig answered by tugging his jumper out from her grip and moving as if to turn back towards the school.

"Don't... Don't hurt Stan, okay?"

This time it was Wendy who spoke, her voice more tentative that he had ever heard it before. She had been Stan's committed girlfriend from elementary school up until a few months ago when Stan's drinking had become too constant to bear, and the boy internally winced as he forced himself to meet her gaze. The doe-like eyes were set large and sad in the pale beauty of her face, yet she looked fearsome enough she might personally see to it that Craig be punished eternally in hell should anything unfortunate happen to her lifelong love.

_I wonder if he's ever drunkenly cried to her in a Safeway parking lot about his unrequited love for his best friend._

It was entirely tempting to ask, yet all he said aloud was a flat and noncommittal, "Okay."

Wendy frowned but nodded, her pink-painted lips pressed together in a firm line. She looked like she was about to say something else when they were joined by none other than Kenny McCormick, his orange parka hood up against the cold. Slipping an arm around Bebe's shoulders, he said something muffled in greeting to the rival boys before murmuring into the blonde girl's ear. She giggled, and Clyde went slightly green in the cheeks as if he were about to be sick.

_I guess they're still together after all._

"S-see you at the f-f-fight, ladies," Jimmy dismissed the girls smoothly, trying to diffuse the sudden tension as the two boys vying for Bebe's attention stared one another off.

"Doubtful," Wendy answered primly, giving Craig one last look of distaste before taking her friend by the hand and leading her out from between the silent standoff of her previous and current lovers.

Bebe offered a small wave and sultry smile over her shoulder as she was pulled away, but her eyes met neither Kenny nor Clyde's hungry gazes. Instead they were on Craig, still standing just a little apart from the others, and the boy shivered in discomfort at the attention.

_Why does she do that?_

She always had, from even before her and his best friend had started dating in freshman year; just little moments of inappropriate interaction that always left him with a bad taste in his mouth. At first he'd thought she'd been trying to make Clyde jealous and therefore more attentive to her, but as time moved on he came to realise it was seemingly more about the girl asserting herself. Craig figured it was her way of saying "I've got massive tits and a free pass to do whatever I want - even flirt with you - and Clyde will never complain." The worst part was Clyde never did, nor even seemed to notice the sly winks and unwelcome banter from his beloved girlfriend.  
               Token had often told Craig about his own theory on Bebe's behaviour, his face gravely serious as he tried to convince the boy that she had a massive crush on him and only dated Clyde to try and make him jealous. Although Token was often entirely correct with his insights, Craig was under the impression that on this one subject his level-headed friend was just plain wrong.

Surely, he reasoned, no one was that cruel.

Left behind in the thick carpet of snow, the five boys watched both girls walk briskly through the school gates and join the stream of other students hurrying out of the cold. It was a clear day, the sky an icy blue overhead despite the arctic breeze that was turning the tip of Craig's nose pink as he looked around irritably at his motionless friends.

"Are we finished staring?" He drawled mockingly, crossing his arms over his chest to try and ward off some of the cold.

"Not yet..." Clyde sighed dreamily, his brown eyes heavy-lidded as they followed the blonde girl's movement across the schoolyard.

"Mmm yeah, not yet," Kenny agreed, pushing his hood back so they could hear him clearly as he too watched Bebe leave. His missing tooth flashed in his mouth as he grinned wide and added, "Bebe looks real hot from behind."

Token scoffed.

"W-why don't you two start a f-f-fan club for her? It could b-be the start of a beautiful f-friendship," Jimmy quipped, rolling his eyes as he started ambling towards the school with his crutches plunging deep into the snow.

Craig and Token followed, hearing Clyde yelp for them to wait up once he realised he'd been left alone with his new arch-nemesis. Kenny's high pitched laugh echoed behind them, but the almost perpetually hooded kid remained where he was to wait for the rest of his dawdling gang.  
               Walking in through the gates, Craig couldn't help but feel as if he'd made a liar of himself after his determination yesterday to never return to school, yet he quickly pushed the thought away. It was better to suffer through classes he didn't care about and start fights with anyone who forgot to be afraid of him than having to call his dad.

"I'm going to win Bebe back by asking her to Junior Prom," Clyde announced, panting slightly from his jog across the snow to join them as they pushed open the glass door to the main building.

"Don't be dim, Clyde, that's never going to work," Token sighed, looking around at the rest of them in exasperation.

"It will!"

"W-well at least m-make sure you invite Kenny too, since you guys make such a good p-p-pair," Jimmy advised, sniggering when Clyde responded by trying to swat him.

"Dude, that's so _gross_ ," He said with a shudder, his hand landing ineffectually on Jimmy's crutch as it was used like a sword to parry his attacks.

The numbness ate at Craig's insides like acid as he watched the encounter, flaring up so large and empty within him that he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from clawing at his own heart. He couldn't understand the sensation, couldn't fathom why listening to his friends was making him feel so hollow. Even no-nonsense Token was smiling and shaking his head at the encounter, Jimmy still snickering at a mock-offended Clyde, yet all Craig himself felt was a cold and unfathomable dread.

_I don't care. I don't care. I don't care -_

He internally repeated the mantra as he nodded along to his friends' antics, keeping his face carefully blank all the while. By the time the bell rang for first period, he was comfortably apathetic once more, even choosing to hang out with Jimmy to wait for the halls to clear again despite being on his last chance from Mr Mackey.   
               Shoving his entire backpack in his locker, Craig fished out his Physics notebook and a solitary pen that he managed to find in the mess before slamming the metal door closed. Leaning back against it, he tried to look like he was listening to what his friend was saying about a drama performance he had coming up, but all the while his gaze scanned the crowd. Dark blue irises traced over both familiar and unfamiliar faces, searching for someone in particular yet who exactly it was he had no idea.

The crush of students in the hallway thinned, and he and Jimmy finally set off towards their separate classes. As they split from one another in a T-intersection of corridors on the ground floor, Craig paused instead of heading to Physics and watched him go. His friend moved with a kind of self-confidence even the most able-bodied would have to work hard to achieve, completely comfortable in his skin as he swung forward with his legs dragging out behind him. Craig couldn't help but wonder what he himself looked like moving through the corridors, then shook his head to clear the thought once an image of an opossum playing dead came to mind.   
                The clacking of Jimmy's crutches against the linoleum floor faded quickly into the background hum of the school starting their classes, then that too fell to a hush and the boy found himself standing entirely alone at the crossroads.

_Go to class before a hallway monitor finds you._

Still he stood in the same spot, blank faced and staring into the middle distance as if the answer to his frozen state lay somewhere out there. He felt so suddenly incapable of movement, so useless in the face of the simple task of placing one foot in front of the other, that his face twisted into a scowl of utter frustration whilst he tried to figure out what exactly was the problem.

_I don't want them all looking at me and thinking I'm stupid._

The thought made him cringe with its pathetic honesty, and he scowled at the admission of weakness.

_Why? Because Cartman said they did? Get a grip._

With gritted teeth and fists clenched he forced himself to move, marching like one condemned to death row the rest of the way to the Physics lab room. Without knocking he slipped inside, schooling his face to its usual indifferent mask as he wove between the desks to take his assigned spot up the back corner.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr Tucker," His teacher commented, but didn't otherwise didn't react as he continued his long blithering monologue on the intricacies of light.

Craig tried his best to care enough to listen, but found that the numbness sitting cold within his chest was slowly spreading up and over his head to mute everything that wasn't it's own relentless static. Even with his textbook open at the right page he couldn't follow along; the letters seemed to rearrange themselves at will across the cluttered page until he felt like maybe he truly was as stupid as Ms Ellen and Cartman and everyone else seemed to believe.

_I don't_ **_care._ **

Taking out his phone, he went onto facebook instead of listening, taking his time to type out a chat message to Stan.

8:22 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"Are we doing this at the usual place for recess?"_

It only took a minute before the answer came, the words flashing stupid and joking across his screen.

8:23 am |  **Stan Marsh:** _"Yep, it's a date"_

Craig bit back a smile.

8:23 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"It's definitely not."_

8:24 am |  **Stan Marsh:**  ":^("

Rolling his eyes, Craig shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and continued pretending to listen for the rest of the lesson. The following period he had no class scheduled, and spent the time he was meant to be studying or catching up on homework in the library instead sitting by himself in the cafeteria and watching a pirated version of  _Interstellar_ on his phone.   
                He was in the middle of silently comparing Matthew McConaughey's character to that of the iconic Ellen Ripley when the bell for recess went, sending a bolt of electricity through his bored form. Vaulting to his feet, several students also on their break looked his way in alarm, and out of habit the boy immediately erased any emotion he'd allowed to show on his face.

Hands in his pockets and head held high, Craig loped at his most casual pace towards the football field, pretending not to notice the growing crowd of students which trailed after him like ants. Their murmurs slowly grew from an insect hum to a cacophony of chatter, and he grit his teeth at the unwelcome entourage as he pushed open the front entrance doors.

The day outside was crisp and white, the air breathlessly still as if with anticipation. Striding out towards the field, Craig was joined by an excitable Clyde, who clapped him hard on the back in a gesture that the boy was sure had been meant as encouraging.

"I can't wait to see the look on all those guys' faces when you smack Stan down," Clyde exclaimed, grinning ear to ear.

Craig gave him a withering look, but the boy was far from deterred as he began strategising.

"Stan is a quarterback, so he's got a strong arm and quick feet," Clyde informed him, his brown eyes alight with a feverish passion, "He's also used to taking hard hits and tackles."

He relayed the information like a pep-talking coach in the corner of a boxing ring, seemingly unaware that what he was saying was anything but encouraging. It was all Craig could do not to roll his eyes.

"So in other words, he's going to dodge all my hits and then bludgeon me with his superior strength?" The boy asked sullenly, keeping his face entirely blank as the two of them reached the edge of the playing field.

Stan Marsh and his gang were waiting for him on the centreline, a semicircle of onlookers already being formed around them. Although mostly clear of snow, the blades of grass were covered in frost and crunched underfoot as Craig made his way leisurely over.

"I... I'm sure you'll be fine," Clyde managed to mumble unconvincingly, his previous grin fading into a small nervous smile.

Despite his friend's clear anxiety over the event that was about to take place, Craig felt truly calm for the first time in days as he stepped forward towards the centreline and stopped. The murmuring crowd of students that had followed behind him fell silent at his halt in movement, closing in around the two rivals so that a thick circle of people surrounded them. If either of the boys tried to run out of the circle during the fight, they would be propelled back into the fray by their supposedly supportive spectators.

Standing with his arms hanging relaxed by his sides, Craig felt his heart-rate gradually slow with each deep breath he took as he watched his opponent from across the line. Stan's gang was discussing something in a small tight huddle, Kyle Broflovski tilting his head down to whisper something in Stan's ear. Mouth close enough to almost brush the delicate curve of cartilage, the ginger boy seemed entirely unaware of the flush of blood turning his friend's cheeks pink at his proximity.

_That must be the most pleasurable form of torture for the poor guy._

While he'd been distracted by Stan and his bashful blushing, Token and Jimmy had joined him and Clyde on their side of the line, already looking impatient for the fight to start.

"You realise you don't  _have_  to fight everyone who challenges you, right Craig?" Token asked him quietly, giving him one of the concerned looks he usually reserved for Clyde.

"I like fighting," Craig shrugged, knowing he should elaborate to his caring friend but feeling unable to put it into words.

_It's the only thing I'm good at._

Even in his own head it sounded irrationally silly, and he avoided looking at Token lest he have to look at the judgement in his friend's eyes. Across the line, Stan's gang finished their huddled conversation, spreading out to face their rivals as Cartman motioned for silence amongst the crowd, his nose hideously swollen and bruised from the day before.

"Everyone if I may have your attention," He announced, clearly relishing in the limelight as he waved his hands about like a showman, "We gather here today to witness the death of Craig Tucker, well known here at South Park for being the brawn but not the brains of his gang."

_Fuck I hate you, Cartman._

There was nervous laughter amongst the crowd, which died immediately into silence when Craig instinctively turned his head to see who had found the slight against his intelligence amusing. He saw only fearful faces looking back at him, and although the results had been optimal, the boy mentally kicked himself for once again showing weakness as he returned his attention to the front.   
                He was sure he didn't care what they thought about him, or about what  _anyone_  thought about him for that matter. He just had to find a way to remember how to act like it.

"Okay, the rules are simple: first to yield, bleed, or be knocked out loses," Cartman called out, reciting an old piece of dialogue that had evolved with them as they'd grown.

Craig was just thankful his peers no longer felt it was necessary for the fighters to remove their shoes and fight barefoot on the snow to prove their toughness.

"Oh and one last thing... If you cry you're a fag, so try to keep calm, Clyde," The fat boy added with a self-satisfied smirk, earning himself muffled high pitched giggling and a high-five from Kenny.

"Y-yeah, try not to swing by the Safeway after this, St-Stan," Jimmy quipped back, his tone light and mocking as ever.

Stan and his gang looked on with narrowed eyes as the student audience laughed uproariously at Jimmy's snappy comeback, the happy-go-lucky comedian universally popular amongst his peers. Emboldened by the support, he grinned wide with his wire-covered teeth and continued.

"Or maybe all of you f-fellas can go together after Craig knocks St-St-Stan's teeth out."

More laughter, and with the final insult still ringing in their ears, Stan threw off his jacket and stepped forward until he was toe to toe with the centreline, his brow furrowed with determination. Craig followed suit, handing his jumper to Clyde and trying not to shiver in his suddenly bare shirtsleeves whilst the others moved back to join the circle that was formed haphazardly around them.

"Ready Stan?" The boy asked quietly, energy prickling along his skin like static.

"Born ready," His opponent nodded, flashing him a small knowing smirk as he added in a murmur, "Let's give them a good show, dude."

Craig gave him an almost imperceptible ghost of a smile back, for once feeling completely in his element. He understood without a doubt what the other boy had meant with his quiet aside; they may not hate each other as much as their friends and the rest of the student body thought, but they still had to fight for real now that they were in front of them all.

Stan needn't have worried; Craig Tucker never held back.

"Then let's get it on!" Stan called out, and the spectators all cheered with excitement.

Craig quirked a brow, Marvin Gaye coming to mind at the wording that had been chosen, yet he didn't comment as he lifted his middle finger towards the other boy.

"Come and get me, dick."

Both sets of fists came up like boxers ready to pounce, Stan shifting back and forth between each foot whilst Craig calmly waited for him to move. Serene focus turned his limbs to molten steel, flexible yet unyielding, and thrumming with energy. His expression was a poker face of nonchalance, but he was far from vacant as he closely observed his opponent's movements.  
                Clyde was right, Stan did have quick feet, as well as clearly defined shoulders and biceps that strained against the sleeves of his white t-shirt. The boy certainly would hit hard when he finally swung, and be able to easily dodge if Craig tried to make the first move. Yet, his well-meaning friend hadn't taken one simple fact into consideration, and Craig saw it immediately as his opponent slowly circled him.

Stan was drunk.

"Kick his ass, Stan!" Kyle called from the sideline, his voice fracturing the delicate balance of inaction between the two fighters as it split the air.

As if he were a puppet to the red-head's whims, Stan lunged forward, his fist whipping through the air a mere inch from Craig's jaw as he jerked back from the blow in instinctive reaction. The missed contact caused him to overbalance, catching himself in a wobbling misstep that placed him almost doubled over directly in front of Craig.

_Perfect._

With a merciless grin, Craig drove his knee up and into Stan's unprotected face, feeling the impact rattle down the front of his shin. Stan made a muffled shout of pain as his hands flew to his nose, but he had no time to recover as Craig followed through with a swift grab for the  pristine white cotton of the other boy's shirt. Fingers curling to fists around the exposed back of the garment, he yanked Stan upwards and sideways, releasing his hold at the last second to send his opponent tumbling helplessly onto the frosty grass.

"That's a foul! That's a fucking foul, Tucker, and you know it!" Kyle shouted, his voice audibly breaking as he watched his best friend land facedown and groaning in agony on the ground.

"No way! That move is fine in fight circle rules," Clyde denied passionately, before adding in a snide drawl, "If Stan isn't up in five seconds he's a knockout."

There was a brief glance between the sidelined members of Stan's gang, panic entering their gazes as they entertained the thought of possibly losing yet again to Craig Tucker and his friends. Kyle sighed, closing his eyes tightly in distress before nodding over at Cartman as if in silent sanction of the obese boy intervening.  
                 Cartman seemed only too happy to comply, his brows knitting together in determination as he began his usual strutting up and down the circle line.

"Get up, Stan! You can get your boyfriend to massage that later for you," He taunted, about to continue the verbal assault on his friend before abruptly going quiet instead when Stan struggled furiously to his feet.

Craig winced in silent sympathy at the murderous expression on the boy's bruised face, Stan's dark eyes narrowed to slits as he glared over at Cartman. It was a terrifying sight; there was blood sluggishly dripping from his split upper lip, his nose swelling crooked on his usually handsome face. Cartman for his part looked entirely confused at the intensity of his friend's reaction to the minor heckling, but tried to cover it as he cheered for Stan's recovery.

The crowd joined in, loud and obnoxious in Craig's ears as he faced up against the other boy once more, fists raised and ready. Stan was clearly finished with any lingering ideas of friendship, teeth bared and hands clenching until they were white knuckled. Craig barely had any time to prepare himself before Stan had thrown himself against him, head slamming against his shoulder and fists sinking deep into his gut in a sickening blow.  
                The boy choked on the urge to vomit as he caught Stan in his arms, having the fleeting yet strange sensation of giving him a bear hug before he dropped his entire weight against Stan's shorter frame. His height worked to his advantage, and the two of them went down in a crashing thud of body against body.

"Stan!" Kyle shouted in horror, and Craig heard a commotion in the crowd behind him as if the red-head was being restrained from entering the fight circle.

Tasting blood from where he'd bitten his tongue by accident on impact, the boy dizzily pushed himself up from where he lay crushing Stan beneath him. Ears ringing, everything seemed muted as he looked down at a breathless and stunned Stan, feeling the heat of his body pressed to his own.

_I think I just won through the tactical use of a bellyflop —_

"Craig Tucker!"

The voice sliced through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter, causing the boy to freeze mid-motion in sheer panic. A shadow fell over him and Stan, a dark figure with an oversized head and their hands on their hips painted black across the grass.

Mr Mackey.

"Now just what in the name of hell do you think you're doing?" The man demanded from behind him, his usually monotone voice thunderous.

_I think I just blew my last chance._

Craig kept his gaze trained on Stan's face instead of turning around, the two boys sharing a wide-eyed look of fear before he accepted his fate with a sigh.

"Are you having fisticuffs, Craig?" Mr Mackey inquired needlessly, the answer plain for all to see.

"... No," Craig replied slowly, rolling his eyes at the stupid question. Beneath him, Stan shot him an incredulous look before letting out an involuntary giggle, the same embarrassingly snorting version of his laugh that Craig had heard the day before.

"Mm'kay, is that so?" Mr Mackey asked disbelievingly, audibly infuriated by the boy's insolence, "Then what in God's name are you doing straddling Stan Marsh?"

Craig internally cringed at being called out in such sexually charged terms, but outwardly continued his usual routine of carelessness.

"I don't know."

Stan started wheezing with the effort to not laugh, and Craig found himself smirking down at him in the split second before Mr Mackey cracked.

"Alright that does it!"

He felt a rough hand grab him by his upper arm, yanking him to his feet with enough violence to cause the joint to pop in its socket. What few onlookers remained scarpered like cockroaches back to the safety of the schoolyard, whilst the two rival groups remained, standing wide-eyed with horror as they watched the school counsellor begin frogmarching Craig towards the main building.  
               Clyde's mouth was hanging open, the jumper he'd been entrusted with held close to his chest, whilst Token looked on with a frown at the manhandling their friend was being subjected to. Jimmy was for once without humour as he looked on, face pale with the same dismay that was also reflected in Kyle and Kenny's shocked expressions. Cartman was missing from the scene, having moved faster than anyone thought possible with his weight the second he'd caught sight of the authority figure.

"This was the last straw, Craig, mm'kay?" Mr Mackey was ranting as he hauled the boy through the halls, his bloated face entirely crimson with rage.

_I'm definitely about to get expelled._

Craig didn't bother responding, doing his best to stumble along after the man as he was marched into the counsellor's office and made to sit yet again on the solitary chair in front of the desk. To his dismay, Mr Mackey went outside and grabbed a seat from the waiting area in the hall, slamming it down beside him before instructing the boy to stay seated and wait for him to return. Then the still-furious man was striding out of the room and shutting the door behind him, leaving Craig sitting distressed and disheveled alone in the room. There was a pause, in which he considered leaping up and leaving as soon as the coast was clear, before he heard the lock click.

_Fuck._

The second chair he supposed was for Stan, who Mr Mackey had been too distracted to detain at the scene of the fight. Looking around the small prison-cell of a room he found himself in, the boy glared at the motivational posters tacked to every wall, wrinkling his nose with disdain as he read the unoriginal slogans written in lurid colours. The one he found most offensive was one emblazoned with the words "Bee Yourself", complete with a smiling cartoon of a bee, and he had to restrain himself from walking over and tearing it down.

After an agonisingly long ten minute wait, Mr Mackey finally returned, and Craig kept his head facing towards the desk instead of turning around as he waited for Stan to take his designated seat beside him. From behind him he heard the counsellor irritably tell the other boy to sit down, to which there was a panicked gasping sound in response, before the exasperated man walked into Craig's line of sight and sunk down onto his desk chair.

Something wasn't right. He could feel it in the air, vibrating in the space just out of sight where the other boy stood, could smell it in the rich bitter scent that had crept into the room with them.

_It's not Stan._

Craig turned his head abruptly, leaving all his efforts for maintaining his air of nonchalance in the dust with the one panicked movement. Feeling his heart lurch in his chest, he found himself looking at the one individual he had truly never expected to see standing cautiously by the door.

"I said  _sit down_ , Tweek, mm'kay?" Mr Mackey repeated irritably, pointing to the empty chair beside Craig.

The golden-haired boy flinched, hands twisting and tugging at the front of his sage green button-down for a few more agitated moments before he finally took a seat. Craig continued openly gaping at him, tracing his eyes over the dip just before the end of his nose and the stubby spikes of blonde lashes framing his nervously darting eyes, trying desperately to understand why in the world Tweek Tweak of all people would have been hauled into the counsellor's office with him.

It was only when Mr Mackey cleared his throat awkwardly to try and grab his attention that Craig finally stopped staring, consciously closing his mouth with a snap as he looked quizzically over at the man. Mr Mackey for his part looked entirely drained as he finally offered up an explanation.

"I gave you one last chance, Craig, mm'kay? And you threw it away by starting a fistfight with Stan Marsh."

The boy's mouth went dry, yesterday's ultimatum ringing in his ears as the school counsellor paused to gesture to the twitching kid who sat beside him before continuing.

"... so, uh, I'd like you to meet your new tutor, mm'kay?"


	9. The Fight III

_\- a memory -_

One boy gold like the sun, the other raven-haired and snarling as he was pinned roughly against the snow-covered ground. His opponent may have been smaller, but Craig had underestimated his strength entirely as he found himself being straddled and smacked repeatedly in the face.

"Get off me you spaz!" He growled, lashing out with all his strength to angrily shove Tweek from off his stomach and into the the metal slide they had tumbled to the base of during their brawl.

There was a loud clang as the blonde child struck it hard, both his palms slamming out against the metal surface to catch himself momentarily before Craig was kicking out with his legs and sending him sprawling face-first into the curved edge. Tweek howled as his already swollen lip was split open by the blunt force, and the children of South Park held their breath, excited to proclaim Craig Tucker as the Toughest Kid in School the second they saw a tear.

Tweek pushed himself up, standing hunched over and pained at the base of the slide, but he did not cry. Craig scrambled to stand too, genuine concern wrinkling his features in a frown as he reached out and took the other kid's face gently in his hands. At first the golden boy flinched away, but Craig was firm as he tilted Tweek's face towards the light and inspected the deep cut that ran from the left hand side of his top lip up into the flesh above.

He'd never felt so guilty in his life, feeling the blood that oozed thick and scarlet from the cut melt hot against his fingers, and for a second they just panted from their exertions without trying to land another blow.

Then a voice broke the silence.

"Cut it out with the fag-a-tronics!" Cartman shrieked from the sidelines, and at the very idea of being called gay the two boys began to brawl once more.

Their fists were red raw and swelling at the knuckles, both their faces smeared with a mix of their combined blood and their potent anger. It was as if the strange moment of tenderness between them had created a true hatred within each of the boys, so eager were they to wound one another now.

In the end, their workshop teacher Mr Adler ended the fight. With both his meaty hands he pulled them apart by the scruffs of their necks like dogs, and shook the savage children like rag dolls as he ranted about not "screwing around".

So it was that no one lost, and no one won; the schoolyard fight between the two boys who barely knew each other being labelled a draw. All the sweat and blood only amounted to three days suspension for both of them, as well as a strongly worded letter sent home. When it arrived, Laura Tucker grounded him for a week, while Thomas Tucker took barely any notice.

"Oh..." He'd said absentmindedly about the news, carefully inserting the mast into one of his bottled model ships, "Did you at least win?"

Craig never spoke to Tweek again after that, and the school quickly forgot that the fight ever happened.

But the boy remembered how it had felt to be robbed of the victory, and he never let it happen again.


	10. Twitch

_\- in which an unwilling partnership is formed -_

"What?!"

Apathetic cold gave way to the stinging sensation of panic as Craig stared at Mr Mackey with a look of unadulterated horror. His mouth was hanging open in a shocked gasp, yet it was the other boy who had spoken the incredulous word of disbelief, his voice cracking as it raised in pitch.

_Why him? Why out of all of the fucking nerds in this school did it have to be_ **_him_ ** _?_

"Well uh, Tweek, you take almost all the same classes as Craig here, mm'kay, and you're within the top three students in all of them," Mr Mackey reasoned, straightening the papers on his desk instead of looking at either of them.

"Yeah but, you can't --  _I can't_ ," Tweek spluttered in argument, finally making an exasperated groaning sound and snapping, "This is  _way_  too much pressure."

Craig blinked and broke free from his frozen state, glaring balefully at the school counsellor as he embellished Tweek's sentiment with a sneering argument of his own, "This kid can't even finish a sentence, how's he going to help me finish school?"

Beside him the blonde boy audibly seethed at the comment, but Mr Mackey was quick to jump in before he could fire back with an angry response.

"Now boys, I'm not taking no for an answer, mm'kay?" He intoned firmly, placing both hands flat against the surface of his desk as if to stress the point, "Craig, you need to shape-up and take this opportunity to improve yourself or you'll be held back, mm'kay? And Tweek, I've already had to speak to you numerous times about your antisocial behaviour, so be thankful I'm giving you the chance to make a friend here, mm'kay?"

"A friend??  _Him?_ A FRIEND?!" Tweek repeated incredulously, "This is the guy who fucked up my face in Fourth Grade!"

Craig couldn't help it; he looked. Turning his head to face the other boy, he searched skeptically for the disfigurement with a dismissive gaze, lazily joining the dots between the faint smattering of freckles across the tops of each his cheekbones and the tired shadows smudged in the hollows either side of the bridge of his nose. Dark blonde brows were pulled together in a frown above the narrowed slits of his tawny eyes, and Craig met his furious glare with a cold look of his own.

_His face looks fine to me --_

Then he saw it, silvery-white through the pink of the boy's chapped upper lip and tracing into the pale skin above; a thick scar. Craig's disdainful expression faltered, his eyes widening in shock at the sight as his thoughts raced back to the events of that fateful first fight. His hands curled to trembling fists as he remembered the heat of the blood from the wound cooling into a viscous red smear against his fingertips.   
               When he met Tweek's gaze once more, the blonde-boy was visibly uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny as he twitched and looked away skittishly rather than making eye-contact. Watching him, Craig felt guilt gnawing hungrily at his insides.

"Now, uh, I don't know what happened in the past between you two, mm'kay, but I'm sure it was an accident," Mr Mackey said in a lacklustre attempt at mediation, before continuing in a no-nonsense tone, "So you will be meeting each other in your free periods to study together from now on, uh, as well as sitting together in class to help each other if needed, mm'kay?"

Craig stared at his balled up hands in his lap instead of anyone else in the room, his mouth tasting bitter as he replied in a voice filled with quiet anger.

"... And what if we don't?"

"Then I'll be sending letters home to both your parents, and we'll have to bring them in for a meeting about you boys' behaviour," The counsellor replied gravely, giving them each a hard glare in turn.

"Okay," The boy replied flatly, curling his hands into tighter fists but otherwise devoid of emotion as he defeatedly accepted his fate.

He couldn't have his mom be sent home a letter describing his poor work ethic and regular fistfights; it'd break her heart, and his in the process. Sneaking a glance at Tweek, it seemed the blonde was just as opposed to having his parents be involved as he nodded glumly in agreement to Mr Mackey's terms. The two of them sat silent and as resigned as death-row inmates whilst the counsellor informed them that he would be emailing all their teachers about the arrangement so that seating plans could be swapped around for the boys to sit together, as well as the library staff so that it could be monitored as to whether or not the two were regularly meeting as promised.  
             As the man spoke, Craig sunk lower and lower into his chair, his body feeling hollow and numb with dread. He couldn't imagine anything worse than being forced to show another student how bad he was in all his classes, but for some reason it was extra painful knowing that the student would be Tweek.

The large void had eaten through to the very heart of him by the time Mr Mackey was handing them late-notes and sending them both to their English class. The ache of it felt so real he found himself lifting his hand to his heart and pressing his palm against the slow beat to check it was still really there, leaning against the wall outside the counsellor's office once Tweek had left, his eyes closed against the light. In his mind's eye he could see his own version of a Xenomorph parasite eating away at the inside of his chest, except it wasn't an alien at all.  
              It was a boy, nine years old and standing almost nude in the snow. A boy who already knew how to be angry better than he know how to be afraid. A boy with blood on his hands and his breath coming ragged from his lungs, tenderly holding his opponent by the cheeks as if he were about to move in for a kiss.

Craig's mouth went sour as he swallowed back bile, the same nausea from earlier rising unwelcome from his gut. Unaware he had an audience, he pressed his knuckles into his eyes until he saw stars behind the closed lids, clenching his jaw against the hunger of the numbness inside him.

Someone cleared their throat quietly from nearby, and he jolted as if he'd been zapped. Quickly whipping his hands down to his sides, he opened his eyes to see Tweek standing a few meters away, hands agitatedly fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt.

_I thought he'd gone to class like we were told..._

Craig's cheeks burned.

"Are — are you alright?" The gold-haired boy managed to ask brusquely, his voice coming out strained as if it vexed him to have to ask.

"I'm fine."

Craig pushed off the wall and shouldered past the smaller boy, refusing to make eye-contact whilst his face was so aflame with embarrassment. It wasn't an emotion he was used to having to deal with, and it left him uncomfortable in his own skin as he stalked down the hallway with Tweek hurrying to catch up.

"Look, I — I get it. I'm upset too, but you can't take it out on me alright?" He complained when he managed to fall into trembling step beside Craig, causing the taller boy to roll his eyes.

"Okay, Twitch."

"You know damn well that's not my name!" Tweek snapped, with a level of ferocity that caught him by surprise.

They both stopped, Craig watching with feigned nonchalance as the agitatedly vibrating boy stared him down. His amber eyes were almost cat-like, the disc of his iris flecked with yellow and seeming to reflect the light. It was unnerving, but not as unnerving as when he finally broke eye-contact and began violently rifling through his dark green backpack in search of something.

_Is this the part where the quiet nerdy kid had a gun all this time and I'm about to fucking die...?_

After a short search, Tweek pulled out a orange medication container and a thermos, shaking three of the peach coloured pills from inside onto his palm before downing them. Lifting the thermos to his mouth, he gulped at the liquid inside to help wash the pills down, before returning both items to his bag as if nothing had happened.

"Are  _you_  alright?" Craig asked pointedly, but the other boy ignored the question.

Backpack once again on his narrow shoulders, Tweek turned wordlessly back in the direction of their classroom and set off without looking back. Craig scowled at his retreating back for a moment before he followed, entirely at a loss as to what to make of the twitchy, feisty kid.  
               They walked in silence the rest of the way to their English classroom, Tweek knocking politely on the door before entering and nervously apologising as he handed Ms Stephenson his late note. Craig wrinkled his nose in disgust as he watched the young woman pat the boy on the shoulder with a smile, telling him sweetly that he need not apologise. Her smile faded into a disapproving look when she shifted her attention to Craig however, snatching the proffered piece of paper from his hands and scanning it quickly before telling him to take a seat.

Using all his self control to not flip the woman off, the boy began making his way to the back of the classroom, only to feel a warm hand fall urgently against his arm. He whirled around, ready to shove the person who had dared touch him to the ground, but immediately froze when he found himself face to face with a frowning Tweek.

"Didn't you listen? We have to sit together," muttered the blonde boy, blinking rapidly and pointing with one wind-chapped finger towards the front row of desks.

"Okay," He replied dismissively, before continuing on his path to the back of the classroom and taking a window seat regardless.

It was with a quiet sound of irritation hissed under his breath that Tweek slid into the seat at the desk beside him, immediately getting out his books and quickly jotting down the notes on the board that they'd missed. Craig watched him filling the page with lines of his small cramped handwriting for a few seconds, wondering how on earth the kid read the board so fast, then shrugged and turned his gaze to the window.  
              Outside the sun was still bright on the snow, each branch of the fir trees dusted with a thick coating as if they were desserts garnished with icing sugar. From this side of the school he had a view of Stark's pond in the distance, it's surface entirely frozen over, but otherwise there was nothing of interest beyond the rectangle of glass.

Something smacked across the raw ridge of his bruised knuckles, and he looked down at where his hand had been resting on the desk to see the chewed end of Tweek's pen tapping insistently against it. He pulled the appendage pointedly away in disgust before shooting the boy a mutinous look.

"What?"

Tweek glared, twitched, and then pointed silently at Craig's bare desk. Craig followed the gesture and shrugged; he'd never bothered to go to his locker after the meeting with Mr Mackey.  
Wordlessly, Tweek tore a page from his notebook and passed it to him, then tossed a pen onto the tabletop for good measure. Craig tried not to look entirely ungrateful as he gingerly picked up the blue biro and inspected the mercilessly chomped end of it.

As the lesson dragged on, he continued sneaking resentful glances over at the golden boy, at first only in envy that he could so easily follow along with all the incomprehensible ramblings of Ms Stephenson as she lectured them about  _Slaughterhouse-5_ , but then after a while because he was unable to keep from noticing that he seemed to be less and less awake. Eyelids drooping, spasms and twitching growing absent, Tweek soon seemed to be functioning in slow motion. It wasn't until he brought out his thermos and started sipping from it once more that Craig remembered the pills he'd seen him take, and frowned as he tried to guess what they might have been to make him suddenly seem so switched off.

_He's an annoying little nerd who - according to Mr Mackey - has **no** friends; why am I even wasting time thinking about this?_

Despite the harshly dismissive thought, he was still wondering about the change in behaviour when the bell went for the end of class, after he had watched whatever was in the thermos perk the other boy up slightly. Eagerly standing so he could get out of there, Craig was left uncomfortably hovering with uncertainty over the blonde when Tweek stayed seated, slowly packing away his books and pencil case as if moving through molasses.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your stuff," He mumbled, handing back the pen as well as the unused piece of paper. Tweek put away the pen but remained staring confusedly at the paper, checking it front and back whilst a frown began to twist his features.

"Didn't you write  _anything??"_  He finally asked, arresting him with the heat of his half-lidded amber gaze.

Feeling criticised, Craig fell back on his most faithful deadpan response, "I don't know."

Tweek stared at him incredulously, a small tic appearing in the corner of his eye before he simply shook his head exhaustedly.

"Look man, I don't care if you don't want me to tutor you, because guess what?  _I don't want to tutor you either,_ " He informed him in a peevish hiss, keeping the volume of his raspy voice down as their classmates slowly made their way out of the room, "You're an emotionless thug, and — and you disrupt everyone's learning with your shitty attitude and fighting against the teachers."

_Ouch._

Pretending to be unaffected by the insults, Craig kept his face impassive as he drawled in response, "Wow, thanks Twitch."

Despite the cruel nickname having made him snap earlier, under the influence of whatever medication he'd taken Tweek merely furrowed his brow. Standing up from the desk, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and tilted his head ever so slightly to look up at Craig with an expression of true disdain.

"I'm going to pretend it's not borderline heartless that you keep calling me that, and  _still_  help your dyslexic ass pass the grade," He growled, "But if you get a letter sent home to my parents from Mr Mackey because you're not holding up your end of the bargain, I will  _ruin_  you."

Craig stared down at him, not paying serious attention to the threat after his mind had gotten stuck on one word.

_Dyslexic?_

He wanted to ask him what the fuck he meant by it, anger flaring red across his vision in a heated mist, but before he could speak the other boy was already leaving the room, his gait a lethargic stumble as if he'd been tranquillised. Watching him go, the scarlet static prickled then slowly faded until he was left standing confused and alone in the deserted classroom, and it was only then that Craig realised the entire class had gone by without him feeling numb, not even once.

He didn't know what it meant but he wasn't about to complain.

 

———————————————

 

"Wait, wait, dude... tutoring? Like, he has to do your homework for you and stuff? That's amazing."

Clyde was stretched out on the bleachers in the sun like a contented cat, his PE uniform too small for him after a recent growth spurt. Shading his eyes, he was looking up at Craig like he was complaining about winning the lottery, and it took everything in Craig's limited levels of temper to not flick him in the nose.

"No it's not  _amazing_ , it's fucking annoying," He snapped.

The two of them were meant to be doing drill exercises out on the field with the other students, but Clyde had faked a sprained ankle early on in the class and been allowed to sit out. No one had noticed yet that Craig had left with him, or if they had they were too scared to point it out.   
              Craig was sure he'd be getting detention for loafing off if Tweek Tweak had been in his PE class, but luckily for him the golden boy appeared to be more inclined towards bookish subjects rather than practical ones.

"Eh, it could be worse," Clyde dismissed his friend's complaint, "You could have lost the love of your life to Kenny McCormick -"

Craig groaned.

"- a boy who in Fourth Grade let his friends pull one of his  _permanent teeth_  out to try and scam the tooth fairy," Clyde finished, giving the boy a hurt look for his clear disinterest.

Out on the field, it was Kenny himself who was currently out-lapping the other students in their relay race, and even from the distance between them Craig could hear him laughing hysterically while yelling insults at the other racers as he passed them. The ratbag boy was for once not in his threadbare orange parka, a rare sight to behold, and with Clyde lying soft-stomached and stout beside him it was easy for Craig to see why Bebe might have made the swap. Kenny was all lean muscle and grace, sprinting flat-out like a greyhound on a track and still able to cackle heartily as he did it. Dirty blonde curls bouncing with each footfall, he reminded the observing boy of a nasty little cherub that had grown up into a man.

"Maybe Bebe finds hillbilly dental plans cute?" He finally drawled in reply, and Clyde let out a bark of laughter before growing deadly serious once more.

"Do you think she'd come back to me if we pulled one of  _my_  teeth out?"

Craig gave him a long flat look, slowly quirking an eyebrow. When his friend's earnest expression remained, he slowly felt his lips pull into a smirk.

"It's worth a try."

Clyde scoffed, breaking his facade of seriousness to knock Craig's hat off in revenge as the boy laughed at him. As soon as the knitted navy wool cleared his hairline, Craig felt the two untameable cowlicks bounce upwards in a gravity-defying act.

"Come back to Earth,  _Astro Boy_ ," Clyde teased, "I'm not pulling my teeth out for anyone, even my future wife Bebe Stevens."

The hat was shoved back on with a scowl, the ear flaps pulled down to cover every last lock of black hair in record speed. As Clyde laughed at his predictably peevish reaction, Craig flipped him the bird and turned his attention back to the sports field, searching for a student who should have been there but wasn't.

"Where's Stan Marsh?" He asked without thinking, then wished the words back as Clyde sat up to look at him perplexedly.

"He went home after you handed his ass to him on a platter," replied his friend with a laugh, adding, "Why do you care?"

The scar carved forever into the flesh of Tweek's lip surfaced within his mind, vivid enough to make him dizzy, and the boy flinched at the fresh wave of guilt that assaulted him.

"I  _don't_  care."

_I **can't** care._

If he started caring now, he reasoned, then he was no different than the nine-year-old version of himself who had thought it was okay to cup another boy's face in his hands and consider trying to kiss the wound better.

If he cared, he might as well tie himself to the school flagpole and take the abuse he surely deserved.


	11. What's Eating Craig Tucker?

_\- in which someone finally asks about The Numbness -_

After lunch there was only one more class for Craig to suffer through with his painfully diligent new tutor, but the boy stayed in the cafeteria instead, loitering until the bell went for the end of school. He wasn't being a coward he assured himself, he just was saving Tweek the trouble of having to hold his hand through their History class together.

None of his friends seemed to notice his cagey mood on the bus ride home, the three of them planning out the exact time to start playing PS4 that afternoon so that they'd all end up versing each other in  _Call of Duty_. Even as he walked from the bus stop with Jimmy and Clyde, the two boys who had been his neighbours since he was a child seemed completely unaware that he was silent up until the point when it was time to say goodbye. First to Jimmy, hauling himself up the steps of his red painted house, then Clyde waving distractedly as he jogged up to the front door of the next house along. Last it was Number 1010, beige and bland beside his friend's bright houses, yet Craig had never been so glad for the lack of excitement.

Finally arriving home after the day from hell felt like it's own version of heaven. Tricia was already back from middle school, laid out across the sofa eating cereal, and for once he was thankful that someone else was home as she flipped him the bird instead of waving hello.  
             Not a friendly face, but a fully accepting one; he could be as weird or boring as he wanted and the only thing she'd rag on him for would be if he was inconsiderate towards their mother.

"You look like you lost a fistfight with the most handsome boy at your school today," Tricia said by way of greeting, her eyes glued to Alex P Keaton on the television screen.

"I didn't lose," Craig snapped without thinking, then mentally kicked himself as she grinned like a fox.

_Ugh, how does gossip spread so fast from South Park High to South Park Middle School?_

"I heard you pulled a wrestling move on him and fractured his spine."

The boy sighed, rubbing his eyes as he lifted her feet from the end of the sofa and sat down, placing them back down on his lap absentmindedly once he was settled.

"I think it's likely the only thing I broke was his nose," he mumbled, focusing his attention on the action onscreen to try and distract himself from the mental image of Stan's bloodied face.

It was the second part of the  _Family Ties_  episode that had played the day before, the youngest sister of the Keaton family ranting to her parents about getting a failed grade for her essay on the injustice of  _Huckleberry Finn_  being a banned book. Alex wasn't currently onscreen, so Tricia managed to drag her eyes away from the television to give Craig a swift appraisal for damage. He could feel her gaze on him, concerned yet without judgement, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you think the town will hate this family even more now that you've bludgeoned their star quarterback in the face?" She finally asked in a slow drawl.

"I sure hope so. If they don't come here with pitchforks and torches within the hour I'll be very disappointed," Craig joked weakly in response, and was rewarded with her surprised laugh ringing out into the room like a bell.

It was very rare that Craig tried to crack jokes. In fact, the occurrence of him having made one as Ms Ellen sent him out of the room the day before had been the first time in what felt like forever. However, sitting there with Tricia and knowing he had caused the giggle that burst from between her lips, the boy felt perhaps he should try making people laugh more often; it was worth the effort, to be able to hear something like that.

It seemed no sooner had he dared someone to show up at the house than there was a knock at the door, small and tentative. The two siblings shared a horrified glance, secretly hoping it was just an unrelated noise of something tapping, like a woodpecker attacking a tree outside. Then it came again, even less confident than before but clearly coming from their front door.

"Dibs not," Tricia whispered, moving her feet so that Craig had no excuse not to go see who it was.

Giving her a filthy look, he stood up and shuffled over to the door, allowing his face to become a blank canvas with which to greet their uninvited visitor. No one ever dared come knocking at the Tucker's house, so he figured it was going to be someone trying to sell them something, and he already had the words "we're not interested" on his tongue when he pulled open the door to see Tweek Tweak instead.

_No... not_ **_you._ **

It felt as if the ground had been ripped up from under his feet, a tablecloth-pulling party trick performed on his life as he reeled back in horror at the sight of the one person he'd been trying his best to avoid since midday. The boy in question was juggling his now-familiar thermos and a takeaway cup stacked up in one hand, his other raised in a frozen fist as if he'd been just about to knock for a third time. At the unexpected movement of the door he looked rather startled, and despite the shocked staccato of his own heartbeat, Craig's mouth helplessly twitched up in the corner at Tweek's wide-eyed bush baby expression.

"What are you doing here?" He asked flatly, trying his best to wipe the anxiously crooked smirk off his face as he added in mock-suspicion, "Are you stalking me?"

Tweek flushed pink across both cheeks, stepping back from the door with a scowl as he yelped out a mortified, "No!"

"Then what brings you to my house, Twitch?" Craig sneered, feeling his knuckles tighten on the doorknob as if the action could somehow tether him and his racing pulse to reality.

The gold-haired boy on his doorstep blinked slowly at the nickname, giving him a withering look but otherwise not acknowledging it, and Craig squinted at him in return. Despite his best intentions, he was slowly becoming more and more determined to figure out the telltale signs for whether or not Tweek was on that peach coloured medication he'd seen him eating like candy, and judging by the lack of sporadic twitching and jittering going on he was guessing that the boy was currently doped up.

_Though not as much as he was during our English class, he was almost falling asleep then..._

_... Not that I_ **_care_ ** _._

"Well, I was just — I was going to talk to you about this after History, but you never showed up," Tweek managed to finally reply accusingly, speaking in that strange stilted way of his, "But anyway, we need to get organised."

"Organised?" echoed Craig, perplexed, but the strange kid was already thrusting the takeaway cup he had brought into his hand and ducking beneath his arm that was braced against the door frame.

He felt dazed as he turned around to see Tweek sitting down on the floor to the right of the doorway, unlacing and then pulling off his shoes so as not to dirty the cream carpet. His fingers were red raw from the cold outside as they moved to pull off his snow-wet socks, which he shoved into the grubby white Converse shoes and placed neatly by the door beside Craig and Tricia's carelessly kicked off pairs.

Feeling like he was possibly asleep and living out some kind of strangely vivid dream, Craig stared blindly at the boy's long slender feet while trying to think of a way to wake up before anything else insane happened. He only looked away when Tweek, catching him staring, wiggled his toes at him and said rather annoyingly that if he took a picture it would last longer. From over on the sofa, Tricia fell into a fit of hysterical laughter, and with his cheeks lighting up red the boy decided wholeheartedly that he no longer liked the sound of his sister's laugh.  
              Standing up once more, Tweek slipped off his backpack and gestured with it towards the takeaway cup still gripped tightly in Craig's hand.

"That's coffee from my parent's cafe, and I brought all the stuff we need to make a game-plan for the rest of this semester," the gold-haired boy informed him, sipping from his own thermos before adding in a mumble, "I'm — I'm trying really hard to be nice here, the least you could do is stop staring at me like I've grown an extra head."

_If things get any more bizarre then I wouldn't be surprised if he did..._

"How did you even find my house?" Was all Craig managed to blurt out in response, feeling more stupid than ever as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Tweek Tweak was standing barefoot in the entryway of his living room.

Looking slightly hurt, the other boy frowned before replying, "I lived down the road from you until we were ten, man."

_Did you??_

The revelation left Craig even further flustered, feeling his face burn as he fixed his hat to be more securely fitted over his hair instead of replying. Looking down at the takeaway coffee cup, he stared at the logo on the side that read  _"Tweak Bros. Coffee"_  whilst trying to formulate a clever-sounding response.

"I... don't like coffee," He mumbled to the cup, then clenched his jaw and mentally kicked himself for sounding so lame.

"Then I pity you," Tweek said in a pretend-sigh that dripped with sarcasm, taking the cup back from Craig and holding it out to Tricia in offering.

The girl gave him one of her rare warm smiles but shook her head, stating ruefully, "I'm only twelve, I'm not sure I should be drinking coffee yet."

For a silent moment Tweek looked absolutely dumbfounded, looking between both the Tucker siblings as if they were trying to tell him the moon were made of cheese.

"There's no age-limit on  _coffee_ ," He protested, "I was practically bottle-fed the stuff since birth."

"... which is probably why you're so short and twitchy," Craig muttered under his breath, and then smirked as he was given an amber-eyed glare.

Whatever the golden boy might have replied was interrupted however when there was an unrecognisable sound from the television, one that immediately had Craig turning his head towards it.

_"Space, the final frontier..."_

The rest of the world forgotten, the boy practically teleported back to his place on the couch. He moved so quickly that Tricia barely got her feet out of the way before he sat down, and Tweek was left blinking at the empty space where he'd been standing less than a second ago.

_"These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise."_

Pulling his long legs up to sit with them crossed on the plush blue squab, he didn't bother looking over at Tweek as he distractedly dismissed him, "Thanks for swinging by, Twitch, but it's time to watch  _Star Trek_ , not make plans."

_"Its five year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations..."_

To Craig's utter surprise, it was Tricia that then spoke up, shuffling over and patting the space she'd made in the centre of the sofa.

"Come join us! It'll be over in less than an hour, and then you guys can go build rocket ships or whatever you and  _Astro Boy_  over here were thinking of doing."

_No, please **please**  don't._

Tweek looked for a moment like his world was falling apart, blinking rapidly as he visibly tried to adapt to the change of plans. Craig watched him with a carefully blank expression, waiting in hope for the boy to decline the offer.

_"...to boldly go where no man has gone before."_

Then Tweek nodded, a small nervous smile beginning to curve his lips as he came and sat in the free spot. He fit comfortably between the two Tucker siblings as if he had been made to fill the space, yet Craig couldn't help but immediately start to feel like he was being suffocated with him so close. Ever since first seeing Tweek at the door, his heart hadn't ceased it's fast-paced drumming, slamming itself to agitated pieces against the wall of his sternum. Now, despite his best intentions, he was being made to sit beside him and pretend he didn't find him unbearable in every regard.  
              The gold-haired boy smelt like coffee, not just from the thermos he sipped out of but his skin itself, as if he exuded the scent from his very pores. If this wasn't obnoxious enough in itself, his body beside Craig was also feverishly warm, sending out a wave of heat into the space between them, and he seemed to be vibrating each time Craig accidentally brushed against him. Altogether, he found it was hard to pay attention to the episode with all the small distractions going on beside him, and kept catching himself watching Tweek out of the corner of his eye as if he were some wild animal that might suddenly decide to pounce.

_I can't believe this asshole is going to ruin_ Star Trek _for me._

As time went on the other boy slowly but surely started to jitter more and more obviously, his twitching returning even as he visibly tried to remain calm. Watching him begin to dissolve into nervous energy, Craig felt so strangely bad for him that he pretended not to notice when Tweek surreptitiously took one of his little peachy pills ten minutes into the episode, despite the fact he was overly curious as to know what they were.

The jitters were gone once more and they had almost finished the episode when his mother arrived home, humming something unrecognisable as she slid off her winter coat to reveal a pea-green dress beneath. She smiled at them all in greeting, coming to stand hands on hips beside the sofa to ruffle the yellow puffball atop Craig's hat before glancing over at the action on the television screen.

"Are Spock and Mr Kirk flirting again?" Laura Tucker asked teasingly, and Craig wrinkled his nose at her in mock-disgust.

"It's  _Captain_  Kirk," Craig corrected, "And they're NOT gay."

"Uh huh, sure darling," replied his mom skeptically, laughing at his scowl before turning her attention to Tweek and introducing herself warmly when her son didn't, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting yet, sweetheart. I'm Laura, the one who Craig inherited all his good looks but no manners from."

Tweek looked uncertainly between the dainty blonde woman and her dark haired, overly lanky son, clearly unsure whether or not she was joking until Laura began laughing. As the golden boy smiled nervously at her mirth, Craig tried to sink into the couch in the hopes of disappearing forever.

_This is a nightmare. I'm living in a nightmare._

"I'm Tweek, I'm Craig's... I go to school with Craig," Tweek stumbled through his words, clearly unsure of how much of the enforced tutorship to reveal to the other boy's mother. Craig could have fainted with relief.

"Are you staying for dinner, Tweek?" Laura asked breezily over shoulder, already on her way to the kitchen.

Craig, still cringing into the side of the sofa, choked on the panic that seemed to spike through his entire body.

"No, Mom," he managed to splutter, still coughing as he added weakly, "I'm sure Tweek has dinner waiting for him at home."

Laura gave him a stern look from across the room, a note of suspicion in her voice as she asked, "Are you  _trying_  to be unwelcoming, Craig?"

_Yes, very much so._

She was watching the two of them, her forehead creasing slightly as she clearly tried to deduce from their matching expression of guilt and discomfort what exactly was the problem. Craig was so agitated that he almost jumped a foot when he suddenly felt Tweek lean into him, the soft warmth of his breath tickling against his earlobe as he whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Unless you want your mum figuring out you have a tutor, we're going to have to pretend to be friends."

Craig shoved him away unthinkingly, his heart hammering against his chest hard enough he was sure the entire room could hear, then forced a strained smile as he looked up at his mom.

"Tweek would love to stay for dinner, what a good idea," He said through gritted teeth, standing abruptly and pulling the other boy with him as he added faux-cheerfully, "We're just going to go do... do our group assignment! ... in my room."

_Fucking nailed it. Fantastic work Craig._

His mom gave him a funny look, possibly because it was the most animated she'd heard him be in months, but he was already power-walking out of the room and up the stairs two at a time. There were so many different emotions rattling around the cage of his body that he felt like a pinball machine, full of flashing lights and silver ball bearings blurring through the space too fast to follow. After so much time feeling nothing at all, it felt terrifyingly overwhelming as he stood on the top of the stairs waiting for Tweek to sluggishly make his way up the flight. Energy fizzed through him, excitingly foreign to his apathetic form, and he had to restrain himself from grabbing the other boy and hurling him through the door into his messy bedroom when he didn't match his speed.

"Your room looks like it got hit with a bomb," Tweek commented dryly once he stepped inside the space, looking around at the laundry-covered floor with both his eyebrows raised.

"No it doesn't," Craig replied flatly, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it in an effort to calm down while the blonde boy tried to pick his way through the chaos.

"Dyslexic AND blind, what a combo," Tweek muttered, kicking a pair of discarded boxers out of the way. Craig curled his hands into fists, but managed to refrain from thumping him.

"I'm not fucking dyslexic!"

Both of them flinched at the sound of his raised voice, then Tweek held up both his hands palms out towards him as if calling for an armistice.

"Okay man, just stop calling me 'Twitch' and I'll stop calling you dyslexic," The boy reasoned, tawny eyes still wide from the fright Craig's shout had given him.

"But you  _do_  twitch," Craig drawled, internally searching desperately for the dull and numb part of him that had been missing that afternoon. He felt entirely vulnerable now without it.

"Yeah, and you're  _clearly_  dyslexic."

Craig clenched his jaw, glaring at the boy until the vision of him started to blur and sting. It wasn't the numbness that rose up to swamp him, but the panic, the nausea, the terrible truth of himself that he couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried to cram it down.  
               He  _did_  care; about the fact he couldn't keep up in class and that everyone thought he was bad news, about how he may have broken Stan Marsh's nose that day, and whether or not Tweek Tweak thought he was stupid. He cared about so many things that it made him feel helpless, so he told himself he cared about nothing at all. An empty lie, armour made from eggshell; what was the use of it now that he had come up against someone he couldn't just punch to try and silence?

_Just give in; you already know from past experience that he'll just keep fighting with you until he gets what he wants._

The boy blinked fast, shoulders hunching as he shoved his white knuckled fists into his pockets and went over to his unmade bed. Pulling up the sheets into what was at least semi-passable as neat and flat, he sat up by the headboard and crossed his legs, gesturing for Tweek to take a seat on the other end.

"Tell me about why we need a game-plan," He mumbled, but as he looked up and saw the ghost of a smile curving the golden boy's scarred lips he knew they both understood what he meant:  _sorry_.

"Because," Tweek replied as he seated himself facing Craig and started unpacking his bag onto the space between them, "If you don't plan for every catastrophe possible then you're asking to fail."

Craig blinked, waiting for him to laugh and say he was just kidding, but was met only with silence. Two chewed pens, a highlighter and what appeared to be a notebook for every subject was laid neatly out between them. Looking down at it all in alarm, he cleared his throat.

"Tweek, that's not how life works."

"Yes it is!" The boy insisted, then picked up a biro and pointed it at him while adding, "And if we fail, Craig, and that letter gets sent home, I'm going to murder you."

The end of the pen stopped pointing and instead moved to his mouth, where it was munched on with those perfectly straight teeth of his. Craig ran his tongue over his own crooked teeth self-consciously as he dazedly watched the action for a moment, then frowned in disgust and slapped the abused piece of stationary out of the boy's hand.

"Okay, we can make a study-plan then, but first you have to do two things," He said, and when Tweek nodded in agreement he listed them on his fingers, "One, stop chewing your pens in front of me before I report you for assault -"

Tweek grinned like an animal.

"- and Two, tell me exactly why this matters so much to you?" Craig finished, leaning back on his hands and watching as the other boy's smile faded.

"I care because — because if my parents think I'm doing poorly at school in any way, shape, or form, they'll make me drop Music class," Tweek murmured, looking embarrassed to be revealing something so personal to someone he so clearly disliked, "And that's the only class I actually enjoy."

Caught off guard, Craig could only nod slowly, wondering what kind of music Tweek played that could be that important to him. The boy had chapped hands from not wearing gloves in the cold, yet with further inspection the pads of his fingers didn't bear the callouses that a guitar player had. Maybe piano then? Or some kind of brass instrument? Craig wasn't sure he knew enough about music to try and guess.   
             Yet, in his mind's eye he could see his father's record collection sitting lonesome in the study, and for a moment entertained the image of sitting in there with Tweek and listening to it play all scratchy and sacred from the speaker.

"Why did  _you_  agree to it?" The gold-haired boy asked him, interrupting his train of thought, and Craig found himself shaking his head bashfully to try and clear it from his mind.

"Because I didn't want my mom finding out I'm stupid," He replied flatly, shrugging.

There was a pause between them, a held breath wherein the words sunk and settled like sediment at the murky foundation of their fledgling truce. It sat there slowly tainting all it touched, until one of them reached down and pulled it out, shaking their head in disagreement to the idea of Craig's self-hate being left unquestioned.

"You know, if you'd had said that to me any day before today, I would have agreed with you in a heartbeat," Tweek said, tawny eyes soft as they met his, "I've had to listen to you interrupting classes and refusing to answer teachers' questions with anything other than 'I don't know' for years, and I always kinda hated you for it, but now I think I understand."

Craig swallowed against the hard lump in his throat, setting his jaw with defiance as he sneered back, "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"No one ever expects anything from you, so  _you_  don't expect anything from you. I didn't notice it until I saw how differently Ms Stephenson reacted to the both of us today, even though we had identical late-notes," Tweek explained gently, refusing to let Craig's prickliness deter him from his sympathy, "And it got me thinking how no one ever gives you a break, Craig Tucker, so  _I'm_  going to give you one by helping you."

Craig sat stunned, waiting for the numbness to creep up and eat the small tiny light that had flickered to life inside of him, to smother the little hopeful flame before it had a chance to breathe, yet it never came. As the two boys looked at each other, amber eyes on dark blue, a stalemate was reached from which the two of them could go no further; Craig knew it the moment Tweek smiled, all tentative and warm, and he found himself smiling genuinely back, although still careful not to show his teeth.

"Was I really that annoying to you, all these years?" He asked sheepishly, the words coming out as part laughter.

The other boy nodded vigorously, his grin broadening as he agreed, "Oh, for sure man. Imagine trying to just get on with your work when every lesson gets invariably turned into  _The Craig Tucker Show_."

Craig tried to give him an answering scowl and mandatory flipping off, but found himself laughing along despite himself. Tweek's laugh was all breathy and light, the corners of his eyes crinkling up and the sound reminding him of one of those wheezy old dogs that whine when they pant. He kept the observation to himself however, feeling the blonde might not understand that he didn't mean it offensively.

"Interesting, because I don't think I've ever really noticed you in my classes before now," He informed Tweek in a drawling reply, and then smirked as he only managed to illicit an eye roll from him.

"Of course you didn't. Now let's start planning, yeah?"

They started with the ground rules, writing them on a page torn out of Tweek's English notebook. Even when disarmed by their wordless truce, the two of them were still at odds with one another, and it took quite a while for them to agree on the set of three.

_1\. No one except Clyde Donovan gets to be told about the tutoring._

This one was difficult for Craig to convince Tweek was entirely necessary as, the other boy was quick to point out, Clyde had a big mouth. Both figuratively and literally. Since Craig had already vented to him on the bleachers during P.E class, he had already risked exposing the entire embarrassing debacle to the entire student body. Plus, Tweek reasoned, if Craig got to tell one friend, then he should be allowed to also. When Craig pointed out that Tweek didn't appear to  _have_  any friends, the rule was angrily written down in defeated response.

_2\. Craig Tucker has to actually start TRYING in his classes._

The boy in question found this rule offensive on several levels and objected strongly at first, but with some threat-based motivation from Tweek he eventually gave in and agreed to it.

The last was simple, but the most important of all in Tweek's opinion, and Craig wasn't inclined to argue as he frowned to try and read his cramped handwriting on the lined page.

_3\. Once Craig Tucker's grades improve enough for him to pass, then the partnership will dissolve and neither party will speak to each other again._

The boy felt his heart squeeze in a kind of odd discomfort as he re-read the words once more to make sure he'd understood, then looked up to see his gold-haired companion watching him with those unnerving amber eyes of his from across the space between them.

"... because I gave you that scar?" Craig clarified, his gaze flicking to the silver line tracing down into the other boy's chapped and bitten lips.

Tweek looked away, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt briefly before finally managing to answer in a voice that was flat with finality.

"Just because, man. Just because."

So he nodded, and left it.

The two of them were finished writing out each other's blocks of free study time to find matches and moving on to arguing over the calculus homework when the Laura Tucker called up the stairs to tell them dinner was ready. Craig still felt oddly full of energy as he immediately hopped off the bed, almost tripping over a pile of his own dirty clothes on his way to the door. Tweek smirked at the graceless manoeuvre and followed more slowly, blinking sleepily like a cat.

Leading the golden boy into the kitchen, Craig wordlessly took a stack of four plates out of his mother's hands and carried it through to the dining table. There was a strange nervous flutter that awakened in his stomach as he went to place one of the dishes at the head of the table, reasoning that now they had four people the seat could be filled like it used to be, and he paused. The empty seat pulsated with an absence so large he could almost see the silhouette of the man that should have been there, and it was with shaking hands that the boy instead placed the plate at the perpetually vacant seat opposite to where he normally sat. He was still staring at the place settings with a frown when Tweek seemed to materialise at his elbow with a steaming platter of string beans and a bowl of peas.

"I've never seen so much -- so much green food in one place," He commented, gently placing the dishes down in the centre of the table, "Are your parents Health Food fanatics or something?"

Craig jumped a foot at the sudden interruption into his thoughts, before clearing his throat and answering in a flat monotone, " _Parent_ , no plural, and no, I think she just really likes green."

As if to prove his point, Laura Tucker breezed into the room with the skirt of her pea-coloured dress swishing at every step, holding a bowl of broccoli aloft as if it were some kind of sacred artefact. Tricia followed with the cutlery and a plate of roasted chicken that their mother had already cut into an assemblage of succulent pieces, and both she and Craig shared a glance of mutual embarrassment that their mom was so blatantly delighted to have a guest.

Sitting at the table, Tricia immediately barrelled into a lengthy story about a girl she had made friends with at school recently as they all served themselves, yet Craig could barely hear her over the sound of the blood pumping in his ears. Across from him Tweek sat with his eyes scanning the room, far too intelligent and too observant for Craig's liking. The boy smiled with a disbelieving kind of joy as he was served green beans, peas and broccoli, then his plate was piled high with pieces of roast chicken as Laura joked that he was too thin and needed some plumping up.   
                Craig felt stripped bare and vulnerable, this uninvited visitor being so warmly welcomed to come and judge him behind the closed doors of the infamous Tucker household. It made him want to crawl inside Tweek's skull and look at all the terrible things he'd be thinking about him and his family. It made him want to reach across the table and hit the boy hard enough to give him amnesia.

It was with these thoughts that he finally found the numbness curled up in the depths of his stomach, hiding there in the dark and leaving him to suffer alone. Like a comforting blanket he pulled it up and over his head, hands clutched tightly in the static to hold it in place, and with relief he finally felt his heart rate start to slow. Everyone at the table immediately sounded far away, as if underwater, and he stared at them blankly from behind his protective wall.  
               His mom was telling them about a particularly comical customer they'd had at the bank that day, gesturing with her fork so that the piece of broccoli attached to it wobbled alarmingly. Both Tricia and Tweek laughed along with her, the sound warm and buttery when it reached Craig's ears, but he felt no similar stir of humour within himself as he sat silently watching them all.

Under the table, he felt Tweek's foot connect with his shin as he kicked him. Hard.

_What the_ **_fuck_ ** _was that for?_

The blanket of numb static had been ripped from his grip, the tide of emotions it had held back flooding back into his mind the second he had felt the jolt of the touch. With a newly throbbing leg, he glared at the gold-haired boy with with most amount of venom he could muster, but the recipient seemed entirely impervious to his malice as he silently watched him with those amber eyes of his.

_What's wrong?_ Tweek mouthed across the table, and it took a few seconds for Craig to realise he was referring to his earlier detached expression rather than his pain-induced watering eyes.

_Fuck off_ , the boy mouthed back in response, scowling at him for a moment longer before focusing his attention back on his plate.

He could feel Tweek's gaze burning against his skin as he stabbed viciously at his food, shovelling it into his mouth in the hopes of finishing quickly and being allowed to escape the table. He resolutely didn't look up again until he felt the annoyingly persistent other boy kick him again, softer this time, and he flashed another cold glare across the table. Even worse than before, Tweek now seemed to be looking at him with pity clouding his gaze, and Craig felt his jaw clench with indignation.

_**You're**  the one with the fucking twitch and the pill-popping, I should be feeling sorry for  **you** , not the other way around._

Rushing to finish his food, the sullen boy was made to sit and wait until everyone else had finished regardless before he was allowed to leave the table. As soon as the plates were empty, Craig abruptly stood and began stacking them back up to take to the kitchen, making no eye-contact as he did so. In his mind he imagined himself as a robot, programmed for the solitary task of clearing the table and escaping to the kitchen, and he found himself wishing it were true as he carried the pile of dirty plates and cutlery through to the sink.  
              Robots, he reasoned as he dumped the dishes into the sudsy water, didn't have to feel all jealous and forgotten when their family treated Tweek Tweak like he was a guest of honour instead of an unwelcome pest. They also didn't have to worry about judgement or social interactions or any of the other stupid things that Craig seemed unable to get a handle on, which at that point seemed like an entirely dreamy existence.

Passing the dining table on his way out of the kitchen, he resolutely ignored the gold-haired boy that was in the middle of politely thanking Laura for the dinner as he stood up from his seat. He could feel his teeth grinding together as he passed them all, entirely drained of all his previous energy and hating the way he felt cold without it.

"You're so lucky," Tweek said as he followed Craig up the stairs to his bedroom, "I would kill to have a nice sit-down meal like that with my family."

"Okay."

His voice sounded flat and lifeless even to his own ears, yet Tweek seemed determined to talk as he cleared his throat and tried again.

"You kind of went catatonic during it though," He continued tentatively, "Like you had shut off from the world. That's why I asked if you were okay."

"I'm fine."

Reaching his bedroom door, Craig turned around to catch golden boy's skeptical look, and despite wanting to scowl he found he could only watch him with half-lidded eyes that were blurry with fatigue. Tweek waited a few moments for him to elaborate, to crack and breakdown into sobbing tears or whatever other weakness he so clearly felt Craig was capable of, yet the boy's jaw only set further with stubborn pride.

_Stop pitying me, you twitchy little home-invader._

"Why do you do this?" Tweek asked, a frustrated edge sharpening the tone of his words, "You just go all flat and blunt. Is it depression or something?"

Craig laughed in his face, forcing the sound to come out cold and heartless even as the question made his pulse race.

"I said I'm fine."

The other boy looked at him for a tensely silent moment, hands clenching to shaking fists at his sides, then shook his head as if suddenly exhausted. Ducking past Craig into the chaos of his bedroom, he made his way over to the bed and reassumed the place he had taken before they'd been called down to dinner. Craig watched, feeling a flush of surprise spread warm through the veins in his body as Tweek re-opened his calculus book and began to flick through to find the right page.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked tentatively, his ribcage constricting with the breath he was holding.

Tweek looked up at him and blinked, quirking one dark blonde brow as he replied, "Tutoring you? What, did you think you'd get away without studying tonight if you acted like an asshole?"

_Well, yeah... I kind of thought you'd give up like everyone else does._

The breath he'd been holding left his lungs in a sheepish laugh as he nodded and self-consciously scratched his fingers through the dark hair beneath his hat, fixing it back down in place immediately after. Joining Tweek on the rumpled bedspread, he felt like a naughty child as he sat crosslegged and began drawing with a pen on the back of his hand instead of making eye-contact. 

"I can't tell whether it's lucky or unlucky for you, Craig Tucker," The boy across from him contemplated aloud, "But I'm not so easily scared off as you might think."

He looked up at the sound of his name coming as a honeyed rasp from Tweek's tongue, letting his gaze trace along the silver line that marked the skin above his lip and feeling that tiny light that had flickered into life within him before flare just a little brighter. It was, he realised now with the two of them begrudgingly joining forces, the small hope he had that somehow this would work. That somehow he could rise above the past, could battle through the present.

"Well, I guess that makes sense..." Craig replied with the beginnings of a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth, "I mean, what's the worst I could do?"

Tweek's grin was animal, all wide and pearly white in the pale angled planes of his face.

"As long as you stick to your side of the bargain? Nothing -- nothing at all; you've already done your worst, and I've got the scar to prove it."

Words said light and laughing, hanging in the air between the two boys like a promise that neither of them considered for a second might someday prove untrue.


	12. A Lesson in Unrequited Love

_\- in which a heart is broken and Kenny McCormick is an incorrigible flirt -_

After Tweek went home that night, driven the few streets between the Tucker and Tweak residences by an insistent Laura, Craig was left feeling deflated. The other boy had not only insisted he complete his calculus homework that he'd been putting off, but had also shared and explained his detailed notes from the history class he'd ditched, overloading his brain with information until it felt ready to burst.   
               After a scalding hot shower and a twenty-minute attempt at getting his hair to lie flat as he dried it, Craig flopped back on his bed with a sigh of relief. Facedown on his pillow, blurred fingers spread themselves through his consciousness; exhaustion, but a good kind. The kind that made sense.

"Your friend is sweet, munchkin," His mom said approvingly from the door on her way past, pausing to lean against the frame as she added, "Its been so long since you invited someone over."

_Tweek is not sweet, he's volatile; an unopened, shaken-up bottle of soda would describe him better._

"I never had a reason to before this dumb group assignment," Craig dismissed easily, knowing that his mom was well-aware of why he'd never liked having people over in the past.

It was hard to hide your personal life once you'd invited someone to intrude into its most vulnerable space. This was why he hadn't brought Jimmy or Token over to hang out in years, the boy too embarrassed to allow them to see the dysfunction, the anger. After a while even Clyde had stopped coming over after school to steal popsicles out of their freezer and drip melting sticky sweet red all over the couch, and Craig had simply stood by silently watching as they both began to drift apart. It hurt, of course it did, but he figured in the end it made sense. His best friend had Bebe, and he had no one; things were exactly as they were always meant to be. He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he'd last sat watching  _Star Trek_  with anyone but Tricia until Tweek had decided to come barging into his life.

"I recognised his father when he answered the door," Laura Tucker continued, and despite having his face buried in his pillow, Craig could hear the amused smile in her voice, "He's the kid you beat up in fourth grade isn't he?"

Craig winced, looking over towards where she stood in the doorway and trying not to look guilty. She laughed at his expression, blue eyes twinkling as she reminisced.

"I remember I made you write an apology letter and give it to him at school when you both went back after the suspension, but whatever you wrote must have been quite unapologetic, because his father always glared whenever he saw us in town after that."

The boy stared at her incredulously, wracking his brains for the memory of writing a note to Tweek Tweak and coming up with only a vague recollection, tickling at the edges of a forgotten past he had spent forever trying not to remember. An indistinct vision, yet he could see the images beginning to form; it had been in the most boring envelope he could find, white with a standard triangle flap seal, and he'd purposefully misspelt the golden boy's name across the front of it.

"Do you know what I wrote?" He asked casually, feeling his heart thud hard in his chest as a nameless dread began to grow there.

Laura shook her head, still smiling, "No, I didn't know you were naughty back then so I didn't check it. Nowadays I wouldn't be so trusting of course."

_I probably wrote that I wasn't sorry and wanted to kick him in the balls or something._

Surely he hadn't written anything... heartfelt. Surely nothing that mentioned regret, or wounds traced across pretty mouths that were too full of blood and betrayal to ever try and make amends with.

Entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, the boy's mother said goodnight and continued on to her bedroom, predictably leaving the door open. With a sigh he got up and closed it, wading back through the dirty clothes spread across his floor and crawling under his comforter with his phone and headphones. There was a rattle as something small fell off the other end of the bed, but after only a cursory glance into the darkness he decided to pay it no mind. 

Choosing the same album as the day before to listen to, he closed his eyes as the strange jingle of notes played out when the first track started, feeling each one click into place along his sternum like keys sliding through locks. Letting the tension drift free from himself, he pushed all thoughts of the past from his present, focusing instead on the fact that despite everything, Tweek was still going to help him escape the hellhole that was Junior year.   
                 The certainty he had in their alliance was warm and exciting, lighting him up from the inside so that when the singer asked  _"wouldn't it be nice?"_  the boy found himself grinning up into the dark and letting himself believe that maybe things were going to be getting better from then on. It felt like breathing easy for the first time in forever, lungs expanding lush and full in the curl of ribs unused to being anything but a cage. It felt like the beginning of the end.

By the time the song  _'Sloop John B'_  began to play he was almost asleep, a soft smile still curving his lips as he found Tweek slipping quietly into thought. In his mind he could see him as he'd been on the doorstep, startled and wide eyed with a coffee brought especially for Craig teetering precariously in his hand. Unwanted, unwelcome, yet of a kind of indomitable determination no one had ever confronted him with before.

_"Why don't you leave me alone, yeah yeah_   
_Well I feel so broke up, I want to go home"_

_Pet Sounds_  continued to play in it's buttery melt of vocal harmonies and layered warmth as Craig Tucker finally succumbed to sleep, sure of the fact that if anyone were going to kill him it would be a boy with restless hands and shadows beneath his eyes, stepping forward across a line drawn in the snow between them to finish something that should never have been started.

_"Let me go home_   
_Why don't they let me go home?"_   
  
  


\-------------------------------------------  
  
  


Stan Marsh was seemingly still absent the next day, missing from his spot beside Kyle on the backseat as Craig dawdled up the stairs of the rumbling bus, pretending to listen to Clyde's play by play recount of how he had beaten both Jimmy and Token in a skirmish on  _Call of Duty_  the night before. His friend's voice faded to incomprehensible murmuring in the background of Craig's consciousness as he paused on the top step, staring down the length of the vehicle to the empty seat and feeling guilt twist sickeningly in his gut.

"Sit down or get off; I don't have all day, Tucker," the bus driver, Mr Venezuela, snapped impatiently, and the boy stumbled onwards down the aisle as he received a gentle push from Clyde to move along.

"Wake up, dude, you're moving like someone hit the button for slo-mo," chided his friend, fondly flicking the pompom atop Craig's hat so that it bobbled in a decidedly cartoonish fashion.

Normally, the action would have earned Clyde an irritable response, but Craig barely so much as blinked in reaction to the friendly teasing, still staring towards the space Stan should have been filling with his self-assured presence. His gaze lingered even as he took a seat beside Token, head turned to keep the empty spot in view, and it was only when he caught sight of Wendy Testaburger openly glaring at him from three rows away that he finally shifted his attention to his lap instead.

He could feel her eyes burning holes in the back of his head the entire way to school, and it took everything in his power not to leap up and run for the door as soon as the bus pulled to a stop outside the gates. She was going to confront him, he was sure of it. The knowledge made his blood prickle in his veins, threatening a surge of static that would rise up to swallow him, and he clenched his hands into tight fists as he set off from the bus stop at a quick pace, ignoring his friend's calls of protest as he left them behind.

_It's better they don't hear me when I ask Wendy how her ex-boyfriend is doing; they'd think I'd lost my mind for sure._

He only managed to get halfway across the schoolyard before he felt her hand yank on the back of his jacket, surprisingly strong a she pulled him around to face her.

"What did I tell you, Craig? What was the one thing I told you not to do?" She asked, voice icily calm and dangerous. Bebe stood behind her, large blue eyes fixed on his face as she fretfully watched the proceedings.

Craig felt himself close up, walled off and stony as he looked at them both and replied dully, "I don't know."

Wendy scowled, fierce and furious as if her intelligence itself was being mocked by his lack of proper response. For a split second, Craig felt a stir of sadistic humour at her outrage, before the flat of her palm was striking out in a stinging lash across his smug face. The smack of skin on skin rang out across the lawn, followed by the boy's gasp of shocked pain as he reeled back holding his cheek.

"What the fuck??" He snapped, gaping at her as he tried to blink back the water welling up in his eyes.

"Wendy!" Bebe exclaimed, hands over her mouth in fright, "Don't hurt him!"

Her friend's plea for mercy only seemed to enrage Wendy more however, as she turned around and shot Bebe a cold look, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Craig followed the interaction with narrowed eyes, feeling his jaw set with his own personal annoyance at the blonde girl's involvement.

_Why does she even care? She didn't seem to mind when I was being duped into a fight over her choice in boyfriend._

"This isn't about  _you_ , Bebe, this is about Craig thinking he can use Stan as a punching bag!" Wendy snapped, her hands on her hips in a stance of self-righteous fury.

"Where is Stan? Is he okay?" He interjected bluntly, reclaiming the girl's attention as he straightened up and let go of his cheek. He could feel the red hot silhouette of each of her fingers as if they had been branded into his face.

She didn't answer his question, instead straightening her purple coat and picking an invisible piece of lint off her sleeve as she regained her composure. The black of her hair had the same sheen to it as a fold of satin cloth, flashing in the sunlight as she flicked it over her shoulder before fixing Craig with a level gaze.

"I know you're not the brightest of the bunch, so I'll make this very simple for you," Wendy said primly, the undercurrent of threat chilling her voice as she commanded him, "Leave Stan alone."

"Or what?" Craig asked in a drawl, but she was already turning and stalking away across the snowy grass, not looking back even when Bebe didn't immediately follow after her. 

_That girl never did like me, not even in elementary school._

As he watched her friend leave, the blonde girl edged forward, holding each of her elbows in cupped hands in a manner that seemed almost nervous, borderline insecure. She started to say something but stopped, coughing lightly to clear her throat before trying again.

"She struck you real hard, didn't she? There's a big red mark," Bebe commented softly, moving her hands up as if she were about to caress the boy's face.

Craig's stomach twisted painfully with revulsion at the scent of her cloying perfume hitting his nose, jerking violently away before her fingers could make contact with the still-stinging skin of his cheek. She flinched at the movement, and he could taste irrational anger rising up the length of his throat like bile as he snapped back.

"Fuck off, Bebe."

The blonde looked incredulous, blinking her large blue eyes to try and clear the tears that were beginning to well up within them as she asked dejectedly, "Why are you being like that? We're friends."

Over her shoulder Craig could see that his friends had almost caught up to them, and so as not to be overheard by Clyde in particular, his reply came out in a low growl of contempt.

"I don't think my feelings towards you qualify as  _'friendship'_ ," He told her coldly, almost smirking as he relished in the utter shock that flashed across her face.

_My feelings for you align better with those of "hatred" rather than "friendship"._

After years of pretending to not find her loathsome so that he didn't lose Clyde altogether, he knew the brutal honesty would be sure to devastate her, yet after all the pain she had caused his best friend it was hard not to feel like he was declaring divine justice with his callous phrase. To his unpleasant surprise however, Bebe smiled, tears of joy slipping down her face as she nodded, reaching out for Craig once more with hands soft with yearning. The boy frowned in confusion, alarm spiking through him like sharp needles digging in and out of his gut whilst he tried to make sense of her happiness.

"Mine too," The girl whispered, cupping his face in her gentle palms and leaning upwards towards his mouth with undisguised intention. He could taste her perfume across his palate from her proximity, could see the slight smudge in the wing of her black eyeliner where her tears were making it run, everything terrifying vivid as if playing out across a screen.

_No no no nO NO NO NO NO --_

Her lips puckered ready to meet his, eyes falling closed whilst his stayed wide open; a nightmare he had been cursed to live out whilst awake. Pulse launching into an anxious crescendo, Craig pushed her away with such panicked force that she fell back, landing on her ass in the snow.

_What the fuck - - **why** the fuck...?_

"Bebe!" Clyde exclaimed in alarm, now only a few yards away and rushing to the blonde's aid, whilst Jimmy and Token followed more slowly, watching Craig with suspicion.

He was still breathing heavily, nausea soaking sour against his tongue as his gaze flicked agitatedly between his friends' accusatory glares, the observing eyes of onlookers flashing with interest, and the miserable face of the girl he had just rejected. The almost insatiable desire to blame her burned like acid in his stomach, yet as he stood there in the frozen moment after her fall he realised it was his fault, his own stupid fault.

_She thought I meant I had feelings for her that were **more**  than just platonic, not less._

"I'm sorry..." He heard himself mumble, stumbling forwards to help Clyde aid Bebe to stand.

"What the fuck is your problem, Craig?" His friend was demanding, but he didn't know, he couldn't even begin to guess, and panic paralysed his tongue as he found himself unable to look any of them in the eye.

Something had only just occurred to him as he had held Bebe's dainty wrist to help haul her to her feet, and it left him shaking as he pulled away. A dizziness stroked its fingers along the crown of his skull, tapping out Morse Code rhythms too intricate for him to try and understand, too condemning to try and decipher; because if the undeniably beautiful Bebe Stevens had been leaning in to kiss him, why hadn't he let her? She had misunderstood and thought he had feelings for her that were more than platonic, but why  _didn't_  he?

_If **everyone**  wants this girl, then why don't I?  **Why don't I?**_

Craig looked at the girl blankly for a second longer, then turned without a word and began marching away from them all as he realised with a heavy sinking feeling that he felt nothing for her. Nothing at all. The attraction that Clyde, Jimmy, and even Token had all admitted to having towards her simply couldn't be produced by his body, and the realisation left him cold and afraid. As the boy entered the school building and began weaving his way though the crowds of students, there was only one thought on his mind.

_Am I broken?_

It didn't bear thinking about.

Up ahead the hallway was almost blocked by a thick mob of his peers, and he found himself trapped in between two of Bebe's close friends, Heidi and Nicole. Despite being unaware of what had just happened outside, the two girls gave him withering glares regardless as he jostled to move between them, and he felt his jaw clench as the anxiety mounted into a crescendo of white noise and thudding hearts. He knew nothing except the need to get through the bodies, too close, too alive for him to touch. They must all hate him, he was sure, and if they hated him then what would they do once they realised he wasn't strong at all, wasn't anything but shattered bones wrapped carefully in skin?   
                   At the eye of the storm was Butters Stotch in a headlock, trying meekly to stutter out compliments towards his tormentor, DogPoo Petuski. The nausea of the sight of the bully scrawling the word  _"FAG"_  in permanent marker across the bumbling blonde's forehead was enough to cause icy sweat to start prickling along his upper lip and down his spine. Shoving past an overly friendly greeting from DogPoo and shuddering as Butters looked at him pleadingly for intervention, Craig burst through the other side of the onlookers and broke into a run, sprinting down the hall without grace, his long legs a chaos of stumbling footfalls like a greyhound forgetting its stride.

_I've never kissed anyone... When was the last time I even **thought**  about kissing a girl?_

Turning the corner, he almost ran headlong into Red, a girl from his English class, and her boyfriend Kevin Stoley, having to swerve into the row of green lockers on one side of the hall to avoid knocking them flying. At the bang of body hitting metal, Kevin let out a squeak of fright and jumped behind his girlfriend, who merely scowled and blew a lock of dazzling ginger hair out of her face.

"Watch where you're going, Craig," She snapped, her brazen tone causing her cowering boyfriend to look even further alarmed at what the infamously ill-tempered Craig Tucker would do in response.

Kevin needn't have worried; the boy barely even heard Red as he blurted out an apology and pushed past them, hurrying to the end of the corridor and through the door of the male bathroom. Inside was damp and echoing, his own ragged breathing resonating through the empty space as he stumbled to the sinks, leaning against the cracked porcelain bowl of the one closest to the door.  
                Hands white knuckled on the smooth edges, he stared at the gunk trapped in the plughole until he mustered up the courage to face his reflection, dragging his gaze up to meet the dark blue eyes that watched from the scratched mirror. He looked slightly unhinged; there was a sheen of sweat across his skin, complexion gone pasty with the sickening panic that spiked through his veins. The welt of Wendy's hand still burned bright against the flesh of his cheek, and it was the only sense of colour in the ashen mask that stared back at him, everything else painted in black and white as if he were a photograph of someone long lost to the world.

_There's something wrong with me._

In his mind he could hear Tweek's raspy voice asking  _"Is it depression or something?"_  as he had the night before, and he flinched back from the reflected sight of his own face crumpling into unguarded misery at the thought. Still flushed and sweating as if fevered, he yanked off his winter hat and shoved it in his jacket pocket, twisting the cold tap on full blast and cupping the frigid water in his hands to splash over his burning cheeks. It was aching cold against the heated skin, but he didn't stop until his sleeves were soaked and rivulets ran down his chin onto his chest in dark drips against the blue.

"I don't care," He said aloud, listening to the lack of certainty in his words echo back at him within the lonely space.

The tap dripped, his wet face stinging in the cold, yet where there should have been a numbness ready and willing to devour his feeling of dread there was instead nothing but the chaos of his own emotions, drowning him endlessly within himself.

_Again. Say it again._

"I don't c--"

The door opened, a brief explosion of noise from the hallway outside it carrying into the space as someone entered, humming incoherently. Craig almost choked at the intrusion, jolting in alarm at being caught talking to himself, and steadily focused his attention on wiping off his face with his sleeve before turning the tap back on to pretend to wash his hands. The hope that the kid would mind their own business and not acknowledge him died however when they paused behind him, the boy aware of their presence like a prickling tension in the very air itself.

"You know what, Craig? I think this might be the first time I've seen you without your hat since Lice Day back in Elementary School."

Internally sighing, Craig slowly turned to face Kenny, leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed nonchalantly as if he hadn't just been on the verge of tears. The other boy had his parka hood down, his messy hair resembling a bird's nest of dirty straw and the gap in his teeth on full display as he grinned like a fox who had just figured out how to slink into the chicken coop.

"Oh, you mean when  _you_  gave everyone lice? Is that the Lice Day we're talking about?" Craig sneered in response, watching Kenny's face rumple into a frown.

"I didn't give everyone lice, you just thought I did," He snapped, before muttering darkly to himself, "Then convinced everyone to ambush me in the park and give me a sock bath..."

_Ah yes, the sock bath; dirty P.E socks with a bar of soap shoved inside rubbed all over him. God I was a mean kid._

Craig tried not to look guilty as he fished his hat out of his pocket and pulled it on, making as if to exit the bathroom only to find Kenny sidestepping quickly to block his path. He tried not to scowl as he met Kenny's eye, irritated to find that the other boy was looking throughly amused once more.

"Actually, I'm glad we ran into each other,"  He said cheerily, moving in closer and lowering his voice, "I saw your little game of rough N' tumble with my girlfriend just before."

_Shit._

"Oh?" Was all the boy uttered in response, keeping his voice flat and disinterested.

"Yeah, but when I asked her about it apparently she 'just tripped'," Kenny explained further, quirking a single brow as he delivered the punchline to Craig's entire morning, "So did you secretly marry her or something? Because she's acting like a battered wife covering up for her man."

Too close, too close to home.

"Fuck off, Kenny," Craig advised coldly, the words coming out through gritted teeth.

The other boy stepped closer, the two of them almost chest to chest and Craig's cheeks flushing as he found himself eye to eye with him, feeling the tickle of his breath warm on his own lips. The pink of his tongue flashing through the gap in his teeth was shining wet and inviting as he grinned wide at the clear discomfort written across Craig's face.

"Or what? Are you gonna make me the third member of my gang to have a broken nose?" Kenny asked teasingly, eyes alight with mischief, "Because I think we both know my face is perfect the way it is."

_Is he... Does he think he's..._ **_flirting_ ** _with me?_

Craig wrinkled his nose in disgust and stepped back unthinkingly from the other boy, a spike of anxiety slicing like a knife through his gut as his retreat was impeded by the unyielding cold of the sink behind him. The nervous discomfort only increased tenfold when the confusingly coquettish boy smirked contentedly at the reaction he'd caused, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially.

"You know what I reckon? That poor girl's wasting her time with you."

Craig felt his mouth go dry, his mind providing him with the meaning to the cryptic words a split second before he convinced himself he had no idea what Kenny was talking about. He quirked a single brow and cocked his head to the side, letting his expression warp into one of naive confusion.

"Bebe is  _yours_ , Kenny," He assured him quickly, sidestepping out of range of the boy as he added snidely, "At least until she decides she wants to date Clyde again."

"Of course," Kenny agreed easily, but shook his head regardless and added, "Yet neither me or Clyde are the main objective for her; we never were."

Craig paused, wanting to flat out deny the claim but unable to whilst looking the other boy's bright and open face, so sure in his own analysis of his girlfriend's actions yet seemingly unfazed by it. The memory of Bebe out in the schoolyard resurfaced from where he'd tried to bury it in his confusion, her face sparkling with tears of joy as she reached for him with starving hands. He shoved it away, only to instead be confronted with the age-old theory of Token's, that the girl only dated Clyde on and off so frequently to try and make Craig jealous, and he felt his stomach tighten in self-loathing.

_Maybe I really am just a moron._

"Well if you're so sure she's only using you, why put up with it?" Craig demanded, feeling defensive as he caught sight of the other boy's knowing look.

Kenny laughed, the gap in his teeth on full display as he grinned wide.

"Titties, dude."

Craig rolled his eyes, pushing past him with a grumble of distaste, which only seemed to amuse the boy further.

"I'm telling you, Tucker," Kenny called out after him as he strode towards the door, "D cups to die for."

Craig was sure he'd rather just die in general, without the need for that particular girl's anatomy to be involved. Already in his mind he was determined to ask Tweek's opinion on the whole mess when he met him in the library for first period, and felt his mood tug ever so slightly upward at the thought as he waved dismissively to the lewd boy in the bathroom.

"You're disgusting Kenny."

As the door swung open he heard him dissolve into laughter, his final words echoing in the space around them in earnest prediction.

"No way man, I'm not even exaggerating here; if the girl ever gets them out in public, Bebe's boobs may destroy society."


	13. Two Boys in the Bathroom

_\- in which an important dose of medication has been missed -_

Tweek was clever; he would know what to do. Or at least he might be able to tell Craig whether or not he was an idiot for not realising Bebe might have feelings for him sooner.

_He may not be my friend, but he's brutally honest, and I need that right now._

The bell for class had well and truly gone as he strode out of the bathroom, and in the midst of the crowded hallway there was a distinct buzzing vibration from his pocket, insistent as the hum of insect wings. He fumbled with his still-damp hands, drying them quickly on his jeans before snatching for the object, squinting to read the display past the cracks in the screen.

**INCOMING CALL:**  Crybaby Clyde ♥

Trying not to roll his eyes at the name Jimmy had chosen for the melodramatic boy when he'd jokingly changed all the contacts in Craig's phone a few months ago, he briefly considered accepting the call before instead pressing "ignore". Making a mental note to delete the heart emoji out of the contact name lest someone saw it and got the wrong idea, he re-pocketed the phone and continued making his way to the library, his face set in a blank mask of nonchalance he didn't truly feel.

The phone buzzed once again, and he pulled it out while walking to check the text message that had just come through.

**Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"i told BB u only pushed her bc u hav nvr been kissed & ur nervous"_

Craig glared at the screen, a mixture of mortification and irritation causing his jaw to clench as he read and reread the message to make sure he was seeing it right. His best friend had just seen his ex-girlfriend trying to kiss him, and yet the boy was trying to protect  _her_  feelings? Indignant anger was beginning to bubble up through him when a second text came through, even more infuriating than the first.

**Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:**  " _U owe me 1. What the fuck is wrong w/ u?"_

Deciding it was better to ignore his lovestruck friend's attempt at interrogation than to unleash his contempt onto the keypad, Craig unzipped his backpack and shoved the device inside, pausing to do so beside a group of students lining up in wait to enter their classroom. Loud conversations filled the hallway around him, yet the distinct sound of Wendy Testaburger's eloquent voice seemed to cut through the mindless chatter like a knife as she spoke to someone else in the line he had temporarily joined.

"... but the committee has almost finished tallying the votes for our list on worst haircuts in the grade," The girl was reasoning pointedly, "It'd be silly to throw all that work away to start a different list for this week."

Craig's ears pricked, the tender flesh of his cheek still aching from his previous interaction with the tempestuous girl as he surreptitiously raised his head, eyes widening when he caught sight of her standing less than a meter away with none other than Bebe herself. His view was mostly blocked by the shy and portly Lisa Berger, her large frame hiding him enough so that the engrossed girls were completely unaware of his presence as they discussed what sounded like the next addition in the South Park Junior girls' weekly online poll. The same exact poll that had incited the hatred between Cartman, Dogpoo and Butters only a few weeks ago.

"Yes, but think about it, what better way to get even?" Bebe argued, her attention focused on her reflection in the pocket mirror she was holding up as she reapplied the wing of her eyeliner in a practised flourish.

"Perhaps a way that doesn't involve you getting what you want?" The dark haired girl snapped back, crossing her arms as she added in a sigh, "But fine, we can talk to the others about it and see if they agree."

_Oh yes, meet up on your little committee and figure out whose life you want to ruin next girls, I'm sure Butters is still really grateful for what you did for_ **_him_ ** _._

Shouldering his bag once more, the boy pushed off the wall and hurried past the line of students, more eager than ever to get to the library before anything else could happen to distract him. He had a Calculus test coming up, and he hadn't even begun to read  _Slaughterhouse-5_  for English; he had no time for getting roped into the drama that seemed to follow Bebe like a cloud.

_That's probably exactly why I'm not attracted to her; I've watched her remorselessly toy with Clyde's emotions for years and know she's bad news. There's nothing wrong with me for keeping my distance after that..._

The thought made him feel almost entirely better as he entered the library, stepping between the barcode detectors at the threshold and into the heated air circulating lazily within the quiet space. The librarian gave him a cursory glance of distrust, but otherwise his out-of-character visit went undetected as he made his way over to the study tables and the person he knew would be waiting for him there.

The desks were set out in three rows of three in the centre of the room, flanked on all sides by the maze of bookshelves that boasted both fiction and non-fiction titles stacked high towards the ceiling. Craig was mildly ashamed to think that he had never taken a single volume down from any of the shelves as he passed them, then shook off the sensation as he caught sight of Tweek sitting at the furthest left table from the entrance, his notebooks and chewed up pens scattered around him. The beginnings of a smile began to pull at the corner of Craig's mouth as he wove his way through the desks towards him, before fading into alarm when Tweek looked over at him with a anguished grimace.   
                   Something was wrong; it was written in the stricken lines of his usually open face, in the hunched curve of his shoulders. The sight had all the other events of that morning blinking out of existence in his mind, everything suddenly becoming all too irrelevant save for the clear distress of his tutor as Craig quickened his pace.

However the nearer he got to him the more the boy seemed to fall apart, until he was entirely untethered, like a wild animal finally freed from a cage; face twitching, flinching at every movement towards him and the breath coming fast and shallow between his chapped lips. Trembling fingers reached up to tug hard on gold hair, a gasp of panic rasping from the depths of him as if dragged out with a hook. His body vibrated with nervous energy, fizzing into the air around him like an aura made from static electricity and agitation, and Craig found himself unable to keep from furrowing his brow in concern as he took the seat across from him.

"You alright?"

The words seemed all too blunt and careless once they'd left his mouth, and he regretted them as he watched Tweek flinch at the nasal sound of his voice. Clearing his throat, he was about to try asking again, this time more gently, when the golden boy made a high-pitched keening sound through gritted teeth. It sounded like the whine of a dog, wavering in the air a moment before he then finally replied.

"Ngggh, I feel like my heart is shaking," He blurted out, his voice almost shrill as his gaze flicked constantly between the tabletop and the library beyond, the ceiling and the floor; anywhere that wasn't the worried face across from him.

"Your heart isn't shaking, your  _body_  is," Craig replied calmly, dark blue eyes widening when Tweek responded with a muted growl of frustration, fists yanking savagely on his own hair.

"Well it feels like I'm dying! Oh god -- what if I'm dying??"

The last time Craig had seen him he had moved as if at half-speed, like honey running slow and thick from a knife dipped into the jar, yet today there was nothing lethargic in his speech, no heavy-lidded cast to the amber of his eyes. As he observed the nervous vibration in the body sat across from him, the boy realised it could only mean one thing: for whatever reason, Tweek wasn't on his medication.

"You're not dying --" Craig tried to reason, but was interrupted by an answering frustrated hiss.

"How do  _you_  know?? Did you manage to get a doctorate in panic disorders since I last saw you?" Tweek snapped, each word strained as he tried to speak past the shortness of his breath.

Craig blinked, momentarily hurt by the boy's refusal to acknowledge his help. A scowl twisted his features, his temper beginning to flare alongside Tweek's before he caught sight of the sheen of sweat across his twitching brow, the pallid planes of his cheeks so leeched of colour that the freckles across his cheekbones stood out like a scatter of stars. It was with a feeling like lead settling into the pit of his stomach that he realised he knew that face, he'd seen it in the boys bathroom mirror not too long ago; panic like a lightning strike down the centre of your spine, then the paralysis that followed.  
                The anger died within him, eaten by a surge of empathy that no other sensation, not even his numbness, could hope to swallow. It was overwhelming, humming through his veins until he felt he might choke on it, staring across the space between the two of them as if the power of it alone might help the golden boy breathe easier the same way he had helped Craig to the night before; with only the simple act of his presence, of his stubborn refusal to give up on him.

_Am I enough though? Just me alone?_

At his prolonged silence, Tweek let out another frustrated growl and tugged at the thin twill of his shirtfront hard enough to pop one of the buttons open midway down his torso. With a twitching frown he tried to re-button it, only for his quivering fingers to prove too chaotic to be of any tactile use, and with a muted shriek of aggravation he began to hyperventilate and yank at his own hair once more. Craig winced as he heard some of the strands audibly snap.

"Hey, take it easy, Tweek," He murmured, unthinkingly reaching to place his hands gently on the other boy's wrists and guide them away from the spiky blonde tufts.

Tweek froze the way deer did when caught in headlights, even his lungs stopping mid-inhalation as if time had been paused for him the moment he'd felt Craig's grip close around his arms. Eyes wide and limbs rigid beneath the touch, the boy made a small strangled sound at the back of his throat before he managed to draw breath and Craig felt him melt like ice cream; all sweet and ruined with wrists going limp in his hands as he guided them to the table.

"You're lucky you're not bald, ripping at your hair like that," He tried to joke weakly, uncomfortable as Tweek stared across at him with his pupils blown wide and dark, his ribcage shuddering as he drew in air.

He could feel the gold-haired boy's pulse ticking against his fingertips, fast and light as hummingbird's wings. His hands looked almost tanned against the pale flash of exposed arm still in their grip, the blue veins starkly visible beneath the almost translucent skin, and he traced them with his gaze for a moment in the silence that followed.  
                It was the first time he'd touched Tweek's bare skin since the Fourth Grade fight he realised, and he pulled quickly away, his stomach lurching in a panicked jolt as if he'd been caught doing something criminal. His gaze flicked to the ceiling, to the rows of books behind them, to anywhere except the other boy's face as he flexed his hands beneath the table as if he could shake the sensation of the warmth that lingered there.

"I think -- I think I might have pulled some out," Tweek managed to say between forcefully slow inhalations, opening up the curl of his hand to show Craig a ragged lock of blonde sitting atop the clammy palm.

"Good work," He replied dryly, reaching out to take the tuft of hair from the agitated boy and then leaning over to throw it in a nearby wastepaper basket before asking calmly, "Why don't you just take one of those pink pills? Those ones that make you go all sleepy."

Tweek looked momentarily horrified by the question, twitching repeatedly as he faltered for a response.

"You -- agh, well -- that's the problem," He stumbled over his words, amber eyes darting about before finally focusing on Craig's face as if the other boy could keep the demons at bay, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed before explaining, "I couldn't find them this morning."

"Can't you just buy some more?"

"Gah! I wish -- but no, no I'd have to borrow money for it and then I'd have to tell my parents that it was because I lost an almost full bottle of them and then my dad would kill me for losing them in the first place," He said in a rush, voice rising in pitch the longer he spoke until he was almost squeaking by the end of the elongated sentence.

Silence settled between them as Craig considered the boy's words, frowning as he found he couldn't come up with a ready solution. A part of him wanted to tell Tweek about the Numbness, about how there was a space inside you that could consume all thought and feeling from your being if you were hungry enough, but he found the words became lodged in his throat the moment he realised he didn't want the golden boy to have to open up that part of himself. He didn't want him to have to live like he did.  
                    Instead, he nodded slowly, meeting that fevered gaze with the calm of his own and quickly formulating another plan. It would need to solve the problem of Tweek's level of hysteria, as well as keep him from experiencing further distress, and as he mused over the possibilities he watched the other boy watch him, twitching sporadically yet seeming far less panicked than he had been before.

"The meds must be at your house somewhere, and you seem too on edge to deal with a class right now, so how about you get sent home sick and spend the rest of today looking for them?" Craig finally offered up, lounging back in his seat whilst the Tweek considered the proposal.

"I guess -- I guess it could work? Agh but the school nurse will never let me go home sick over mental health problems," He groaned, his hands lifting as if to tug at the gold of his hair before Craig gently yet pointedly pushed them back down to the tabletop.

"It's alright, we'll just have to make you  _look_  sick, and with a bit of acting on your part I think it'll work out fine," He assured the trembling boy, feeling the beginnings of a smirk spreading across his face as an idea coalesced into shape.

Standing up abruptly from his chair, he silently helped gather up Tweek's things and place them in the dark green backpack he never seemed to be without, handing it over to him even as the other boy began to fretfully protest once more.

"Wait! Acting?? I'm a terrible actor, I can't act to save my life!"

"You're capable of more than you think. I mean, you managed to make me study all of last night right?" Craig reasoned, placing his hands on either side of Tweek's shoulders as he shook him gently, "Just follow my lead, and try to make it believable, okay?"

There was a shared nod, then the two of them made their way out of the library, ducking their heads guiltily as they passed the librarian who scrutinised them both over the top of her computer monitor. Heading through the barcode scanner single file, the taller of the pair led the shorter down a set of hallways and into the bathroom he'd been talking to Kenny in earlier, ignoring the memories that stirred up in his chest as they entered.  
                 Tweek eyed him suspiciously in their mirrored reflections as they stopped by the sinks, Craig flashing him a knowing smirk before turning one of the hot water taps on full. The liquid that gushed out was as frigid as if he'd turned the cold tap, yet as they waited it slowly but surely began to heat until the point that steam danced upwards from the faucet.

"Alright, give me your jacket," He said, turning to face the blonde with his hand held out expectantly for the garment he was sure would be located somewhere in the boy's green backpack.

"Ah, I didn't bring a jacket today," Tweek mumbled, shifting foot to foot while Craig stared at him incredulously.

"It's the middle of  _Winter_ , man, what kind of fucking weirdo doesn't wear a jacket to school?"

"I wasn't cold!" He snapped, suddenly defensive as he added, "Surely you can just use yours?"

_Yeah but then_ **_I'd_ ** _be the one having to walk around freezing in a wet coat all day, you dick._

He was reluctant, yet there seemed to be no other choice, and after a moment's hesitation he decided to use his shirt instead, as no one would be able to tell he wasn't wearing one when his jacket was buttoned up. With a sigh Craig unfastened and slipped off his navy overcoat, wanting to shiver almost as soon as the damp bathroom air touched the bare skin of his arms. He was wearing his favourite t-shirt for what was probably the seventh day in a row, and he tried not to clench his jaw in mild embarrassment as Tweek narrowed his amber eyes at a particularly suspicious-looking stain near the hem.

"... it's toothpaste," He intoned flatly, feeling his cheeks flush when the other boy smirked and met his gaze, one eyebrow quirking.

"Sure, man."

_I should punch him in the teeth and get him sent home needing **dentures**  _ _as well as_ _his stupid medication._

With a fierce scowl towards Tweek, he grabbed the t-shirt by the back of the neck and pulled it over his head, careful not to knock his hat off as he did so. Face reemerging from the folds of soft white cotton, Craig grimaced further as he caught sight of the other boy's openly alarmed expression, confused gaze fixated on the suddenly all too bare flesh of his torso. His eyes were wide, the gold swallowed up by the black of his pupil until they resembled those of a shark who had just smelt blood, and Craig felt frozen under that heated scrutiny, his skin prickling with goosebumps as he dazedly watched Tweek watch him for a silent moment.   
                  Then he shivered, and the movement seemed to shatter the trance between them as the blonde boy flushed and looked heavenward, Craig pulling his jacket on and buttoning it up over his bare chest with lightning speed. Trying desperately Not To Think About It, he balled up the t-shirt in his hands and shoved it under the scalding hot water, staring at the steam rising up towards him instead of the flaming red of Tweek's cheeks.

"Okay, uh, shove this on your face," He mumbled, clearing his throat and lifting the sopping wet garment up for the boy to take.

"Wait,  _what??_  You want me to put your cum-stained shirt on my  _face_???" Tweek demanded shrilly, stepping back with his blush spreading like wildfire down his neck and even into the delicate shells of his ears.

Craig was mortified.

"It's  _TOOTHPASTE!"_

"It looks like cum to me, man!"

With a growl of pure frustration, Craig grabbed the other boy by the shirtfront and shoved the wetly steaming piece of clothing into his face, holding tightly to him as he shrieked and thrashed to try and break free. In the back of his mind he fervently hoped that no one would walk in on them both in such a peculiar and surely unexplainable position, and let go of Tweek much quicker than he normally would have if he were performing the hot-cloth technique on himself for a day off school.

"What the fuck -- are you  _trying_  to burn my face off?" The blonde demanded as soon as his mouth was free of wet t-shirt, spluttering and shoving Craig roughly away from himself.

"No, I'm trying to make you look like  _that_ ," He drawled in response, brushing himself off irritably as he gestured towards Tweek's reflection in the mirror.

Although the boy had been quite flushed before his treatment with the wet cloth, he now looked even more decidedly so in the main points which mattered; his nose had gone red-tipped and snotty from the copious amounts of hot water pushed up into it, his eyes a rheumy irritated red as if fevered. Across his forehead was warmly moist, like it would be if he had a temperature, and several locks of golden hair were pasted down across it as if from sweat. Tweek stared at himself twitching for a few moments before grinning nervously and looking over at Craig with an apologetic expression.

"You've made me look like I have the flu," He murmured, blonde lashes raking his cheeks as he looked down shyly, "Thank you, Craig."

"Don't thank me just yet, we have to get you to the nurse before your face returns to normal," The boy replied flatly, waving away the gratitude as if it were a vapour in the air before yanking open the bathroom door, "Let's go."

The two of them hurried down to the school sickbay as quickly as they could, Craig dabbing at Tweek's face once more along the way before shoving his soaking wet t-shirt into the other boy's schoolbag, reasoning that it wouldn't be fair for him to carry it around for the rest of the day when Tweek could easily just throw it in the clothes dryer when he got home. When they arrived at the Nurse's door, Craig knocked against it in an act of faux politeness then wrinkled his brow in the pretence of concern as he entered.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" Nurse Gohlm asked from behind her desk, her narrowed eyes scanning both of them up and down in grim assessment as Craig pushed Tweek forward.

"My friend is really ill, he keeps coughing and sneezing all over me," The boy complained nasally, crossing his arms as if fed up with his supposed "friend".

The nurse frowned disapprovingly at him, then directed her attention to the snotty blonde in question, her brow wrinkling in worry. Standing up, she beckoned Tweek over to the sickbed that was set up in the room, getting him to sit down as she placed her palm over his supposedly sweaty forehead.

"Oh dear, you seem to have a high temperature," She declared, stepping back and smothering her hands in sanitiser while asking, "Do you feel feverish?"

Tweek looked terrified at the question, and for a split second Craig thought he might ruin the entire operation, the boy too twitchy and panicked to be believable. His stomach twisted in disappointment, and he was opening his mouth to answer for the mute patient when Tweek himself finally managed to cough out a reply.

"I don't think so... I just feel really cold, but then I couldn't stop sweating so I took off my jumper, and now everything feels like a big ache," He mumbled, rubbing his fingers against his throat as if the act of speaking pained him, adding extra thickness to the rasp of his voice so that the words came out congested and faint.

_Fuck this kid is good._

Craig tried not to look impressed as Nurse Gohlm nodded sympathetically, handing him a box of tissues and patting him on the shoulder.

"You've clearly got a virus, and unfortunately it's school policy that I have to send you home in case you infect the other students," She informed him gravely, returning to her desk and beginning tapping away at the keyboard of her computer.

"Oh but then I'll miss my classes," Tweek fretted with a hammed up sniffle, and Craig shot him a warning look whilst the nurse was distracted.

_Is he_ **_trying_ ** _to convince her to let him stay? Don't overdo it, dude._

"I'm sure your friend here can take notes for you," Nurse Gohlm replied dismissively, gesturing to Craig with a flick of her hand.

He scowled mutinously over at the golden boy as the nurse had him sign himself out on the early-leaver roll, holding the furious glare right up until the point when the clueless woman started to turn back around to face him. The split second before she caught his expression, he relaxed it into the mask of mock-worry once more, blinking his dark blue eyes angelically towards her as she gave him a skeptical grimace.

_This lady really doesn't like me for some reason..._

"I'm sure your friend doesn't need you to wait with him for his parents to come pick him up," she told him in a tone dripping with derision, "So you can return to class now, Mr Tucker."

Her voice was cold and hostile, and after an initial jolt of surprise, Craig found himself having to bite back a smirk when he realised how many kids must have been sent to her with scraped knees, black eyes and bleeding noses thanks to him over the years. Too many to recall individually, yet every one of them would have had his name and student photo tacked onto the end of the incident report.

_She must think I'm the spawn of Satan._

Nodding slowly, the boy had to bite the inside of his lip to keep one of his nastiest grins at bay as he gave the sour-faced woman a salute and backed towards the door, causing her to scowl further in displeasure before he turned his attention to Tweek. Staring at Craig's behaviour with a kind of awed horror, the golden boy's hands fidgeted restlessly in his lap until he seemingly managed to pluck up the courage to give a small wave of goodbye towards his unlikely saviour. The flash of his pale hand was quick, gone fast enough that the nurse didn't catch it, yet the gesture was enough to blindside Craig as he stood there at the threshold of his clean escape, and he was helpless as the strange sense of care he felt knocked him sideways.

"I hope you feel better soon," he heard himself saying, his own surprise reflected in the face of the boy he spoke to, "I'll bring the study notes over to you this afternoon, okay?"

_**Will** I? Why the fuck did I say that?_

"Thank you, Craig."

Large amber eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled over at him warmly, then Craig felt the bloom of heat lighting up across his cheeks and he had to look away, had to escape the space entirely because he was sure it was suddenly very stuffy in there. Looking towards the floor, his voice came out as a hideously nasal drawl as he spoke over his shoulder on his way out.

"Don't mention it."

There was a painfully goofy grin spreading itself unwelcome across his face as soon as he was out of their sight, and he covered his teeth with his hand as he dawdled back to the library, elated that their plan had worked. He was sure that Tweek would find his medication in no time and could then come back to school as the much more calm version of himself the next day, the sense of optimism intoxicating within his usually entirely pessimistic brain.

_What am I even smiling for? That lucky asshole gets to go home and I get stuck taking notes for him._

The thought only made him grin wider, his heart feeling fit to burst with how nice it felt to have helped someone, even if that someone was the rule-making and unfriendly Tweek.  
              As he thought about it further, he wondered how accurate that description actually was after their interaction that day. He had seemed genuinely grateful, trusting him enough to follow his directions even when Craig had never done anything kind for him in the past.

_Maybe our new truce means we're kind-of-friends until I pass the grade? And then we can go back to ignoring each other._

Yes, it seemed that although the school nurse may have openly hated him, the golden boy didn't; that much he was certain about as he pulled out his phone to text Clyde excitedly about it. In his glow of happiness he forgot the events of that morning prior to meeting up with Tweek, right up until the point that he was beginning to type and caught sight of the texts above.  
                 Rereading the series of messages felt like a punch to the gut, forcing the positive energies to be expelled from his body in a heaving sigh. Staring at the cracked screen, the boy felt so suddenly alone that he almost turned back around to go back and find Tweek in the sickbay. Just to have back that feeling of being something more than just a problem, more than just a void that sucked the life, the love, the happiness, out of everyone around him.

To feel like he had when Tweek had smiled at him like he'd saved him, and to have the sight of those perfect teeth in all their glory light his cheeks aflame.

Deleting his message to Clyde, he felt the numbness nibbling at the lining of his stomach as he spent several minutes typing out a new one and rechecking it multiple times before he sent it, wincing at the sensation of static dancing alongside the nervous fluttering insects in his guts. He read and reread his own text as he waited for his friend to reply, staring at the words until they no longer meant anything at all and he wasn't sure if he'd spelled anything right.

**TO:**   **Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"I'm really sorry Clyde, I didn't mean to hurt Bebe but more importantly I never wanted to hurt you. I'm really sorry that this happened and I hope you know that I have never thought of her in that way and honestly didn't see this coming at all."_

It seemed like too much, too little; like a big useless explanation for something he should never have had to deal with in the first place. For not the first time that day, he wished wholeheartedly that he'd listened to Token when he'd said Bebe had feelings for him, and that perhaps if he had that the entire mess could have been avoided. Most of all he just wanted Clyde to be alright, unable to bear the thought of being the source of the boy's heartache.

The phone vibrated in his hand, and he felt his heart lurch with anxious anticipation.

**Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"Yeh I get it Craig, it's not ur fault that I am ugly & small :( of course BB wants u an not me"_

Craig felt his jaw clench in discomfort as he struggled to read the message, hating seeing his friend self deprecate but also feeling like he was being needlessly guilted by the other boy. He quickly typed out his reply, knowing he was sure to have made some spelling mistakes in his haste yet no longer patient enough to try and fix them.

**TO:**   **Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"Yuor NOT ugly an small, Clyde. Bebe is crazy if she wants me over you, an you defentely desrve better than somone who would do this too you an Kenny."_

**Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"Dude I can barely even read that lmao"_

Craig scowled viciously, shoving his empathy for his friend into the pit of his stomach for the static to eat, then pulling the blanket of numbness up and over his head so that he didn't have to face the wave of discomfort the text had sent surging through him. Reading back over the message, it took him multiple times to find the words he had spelt wrong, and even then he wasn't entirely sure.

_It's not dyslexia... it's just autocorrect lagging on this stupid old iphone._

He wasn't entirely convinced, a nagging internal voice reminding him how he had always had trouble reading worksheets and notes written on the blackboard, how he had been the worst speller in his class every year in elementary school and how their teacher Mr Garrison had called him a "fucking retard" when he'd asked for help.  
                 Surely, the little voice reasoned, that meant he had  _something_. Surely, if Tweek was as smart as Craig thought he was, then he wouldn't have randomly labelled the boy as having a disorder he didn't fit the bill for.

The bell for the second class of the day rang out whilst he was still debating himself, and with a small shake of his head Craig slid his phone into his pocket and packed his things away glumly. He had Calculus next, and the idea of facing up against Ms Ellen after their last interaction was the last thing he wanted to do. A part of him considered skipping the class and going to sit in the cafeteria by himself instead, but he had promised Tweek he'd take notes for him, and he wasn't about to break that promise.

Skulking back out of the library like a criminal on the run, the boy moved with his head down and his hands curled to nervous fists at his sides, hoping to avoid running into the growing list of people he had managed to piss off that week alone. Alongside the usual suspects that formed Stan's gang, he now also had to add Bebe and Wendy after his miserable efforts that morning. Worse still, even his own friends were now pencilled in at the bottom of the blacklist, a necessary evil that would prevent Token, Jimmy, or Clyde from asking questions and drawing conclusions about things Craig would rather they just stayed silent about.

There was unfortunately one individual who couldn't be avoided, no matter how much the student body at large wished otherwise; Eric Cartman. His gasping, hysterical laughter could be heard from the opposite end of the hallway as Craig approached the classroom, clenching his jaw against the loathsome sound.   
                Steeling himself, he stepped through the open doorway and into the noisy room beyond, his face a mask of disinterest.

Cartman was leaning back in his chair smugly, balancing the already dangerously strained piece of furniture on its back two legs in a way that someone of his size should have had the common sense not to attempt. His attention was not on the accident waiting to happen however, but instead the poor bumbling blonde boy who sat beside him, smiling good-naturedly as he tried to scrub off the slur DogPoo had scrawled across his forehead earlier with a wet wipe.

"Butters you black asshole, you look so goddamn stupid right now," Cartman wheezed between laughs, slapping a meaty hand on the elfin boy's shoulder in a repeated movement that was supposedly consolatory.

"Well ah-hh jeez Eric, I'm just glad at one of us finds this funny," Butters replied timidly, "B-because I sure don't think me having 'fag' written on my head is too funny at all."

"It's fucking hilarious, Butters, don't be such a pussy about it or people might start to think you really  _are_  gay."

The rotund boy said the comment as he said most of his jibes; with thinly veiled threat and a kind of faux-rationality that made most people's tempers flare when they were on the receiving end of it. Craig had heard that grating, infuriating tone many times before, yet as he watched the fear flash in Butters' light blue eyes in response he couldn't help the heated spike of anger that pierced through the numb.

"I'm not a no-good abomination!" Butters exclaimed forcefully, his whiny voice coloured with the fury of his indignation.

_Abomination...?_

And then he understood it, just for a moment, why Stan might have wanted to help tie the little blonde to the flagpole that day; because if Butters' hate-fuelled denial had made him feel as sick as it did, then he couldn't imagine how Stan would have felt hearing it. Stanley Marsh, the star quarterback and a closeted no-good abomination.   
                Perhaps it was the fleeting sense of empathy that made him do what he did, or maybe it was because of a more selfish dislike curdling within him, but as Craig passed the fat boy's precariously balanced seat, he misstepped. One long limb kicked out to the side, driving his foot surreptitiously into one of the trembling chair legs with as much force as he could muster.

**Clunk.**

The already overly strained metal piping of the chair leg bent sideways and collapsed, sending Cartman plummeting to the floor in a earthquaking collision of blubber and threadbare carpet. He squealed like a stuck pig, a sound soon drowned out by his classmates' chorus of laughter.

"Craig you goddamn douchebag!" He screeched, on the verge of an all-out tantrum as he flailed to try and get up, but the lanky boy in question was already taking his seat up the back, his poker face giving nothing away.

"Eric Cartman! How did you manage to break your seat?" Ms Ellen demanded as she walked in on the spectacle, hands on her hips as she settled the still-laughing class with a stern glare.

Silence fell, all eyes on the manipulative boy as he visibly worked up an expression of innocent hurt, crocodile tears welling up in his eyes on cue. Struggling to pick himself up off the floor, he hugged himself as if he were a frightened child, wobbling his bottom lip in a well-practiced manoeuvre.

"Ms Ellen, I was just trying to sit down quietly and learn math and then Craig walked in and -" he blubbered, pausing to sniffle before continuing in the same miserable whine, "- and he kicked my chair out from under meeeee... and he said he h-hated me because I'm smart and people actually like meeeee-"

"Oh be quiet, Cartman!" DogPoo snapped from the back row, "You broke the chair because you're morbidly obese and were moronically balancing on the back legs."

There were murmurs of agreement around the class, and after a suspicious glance towards Craig,  Ms Ellen returned her attention to Cartman, issuing him a detention slip for "dangerous and destructive behaviour". Despite the furious glare being shot at him from across the room, Craig couldn't help but feel oddly victorious as he caught DogPoo's eye and nodded at him in silent gratitude. The other boy gave the thumbs up with a filthy hand, then the two of them returned their attention to the front of the room lest Ms Ellen catch the interaction.

DogPoo had been friendly towards Craig ever since he'd become the target of their mutual enemy's wrath, yet it was only the second time someone other than Clyde, Token or Jimmy had ever gone out of their way to defend him. The first had been Stan of course, calling Cartman a fat piece of shit the other day outside of Mr Mackey's office, and Craig found the same concoction of of genuine surprise and moral discomfort bubbling through his veins.

_I may not like the way he treats Butters, but I do now owe him one_.

The rest of the class dragged by uneventfully, with the usually entirely distracted boy trying his best to note down the equations the teacher listed as being important for their upcoming test, writing slowly in his large, rounded penmanship. As he tried to focus on Ms Ellen's voice instead of the warped symbols she scribbled up on the board however, he found that although the lesson was definitely still boring, it went by much quicker than usual now that he wasn't just staring out the window, and he wasn't nearly asleep by the time the bell rang for recess.

Packing up quickly, he had almost forgotten his previous interaction with Cartman until he found his way out of the room blocked by the immense size of the boy's body, the other students moving around the two of them with looks of alarm. Craig acknowledged him with a flat, disinterested gaze, watching the fury in Cartman's piggish eyes burn cold and malevolent as he raised a stubby finger to prod at his chest.

"I'm going to get you one of these days,  _Fucker_ , you hear me?" He spat, voice low and full of threat.

"Okay."

The disinterest response only seemed to enrage the fat boy further, but to Craig's concern he didn't snap like Wendy had, didn't even frown. Instead Cartman smiled, a vision so chilling that even The Numbness warned Craig in whispers that he should be afraid.

"You think you're safe because you don't care about anything, but  _everyone_  cares about  _something._ I'm going to find out what yours is and when I do I am going to kill it in front of you."

_Good luck killing Lieutenant Ellen Ripley then, because she already killed herself in_ Alien 3 _and I'm pretty sure I don't give a flying fuck about anything else._

Craig curled his lip in a sneer of pure disdain as he pushed past the obese boy, discarding the flicker of fear that had momentarily made it past his defences. He had no time for idle threats, and he most certainly didn't want to hang around in his calculus classroom with someone so wholeheartedly stupid as to believe they could hurt him.

Recess was spent seeking solace from his list of undesirables in the library, watching his phone screen remain blank and lifeless; devoid of any notifications from the messages of concerned friends. He wondered if Clyde was still busy pitying himself over his unfaithful ex-girlfriend, or if Jimmy and Token had finally given up on listening to him moan and had advised him to get a grip. A part of him felt achingly hollow at the idea that they might be talking about his odd behaviour, but it seemed more likely he supposed they wouldn't have been thinking of him at all.

_I need to get a grip. I mean, it was all just a big misunderstanding, so there's no need to be so sulky about all this._

After recess was English, his arrival in the classroom earning him a withering look from Wendy as well as a scowl of true contempt from Kyle Broflovski, sitting beside her in the second row. The static within him ate their hatred hungrily, licking it's lips and begging for more whilst Craig breezed past them towards his usual seat up by the back window. There was no one to sit unwelcome in the seat beside him, no one to distract him from the echoing space within the very heart of his body, and as he sat down, head in his hands, he couldn't help but feel that the world made sense again. An old song from his dad's record collection came to mind, the lyrics taunting as they danced across the dark behind the closed lids of his eyes.

_"I truly am indeed,_   
_Alone again, naturally."_

Normally he would have just truanted class when he felt like this, but he had made a promise, and by the truce between them he was bound to keep it. The knowledge smoothed itself across his skin, hardening into a steely kind of determination as he got out his notebook and waited for the lesson to begin.

Ms Stephenson arrived late, bustling in on little kitten heels that could be heard clopping against the hallway floor long before she appeared in the doorway. With a loud thud she dropped a stack of worksheets on her desk, then immediately started firing into one of her infamously long-winded spiels on the latent themes within  _Slaughterhouse-5_. Craig could only blink in complete confusion at the stream of words erupting from her mouth, the whiteboard marker scrawling in chaotic flurries across the board. Looking around the room, he could see everyone else seemed to have no trouble taking notes, their pens moving at speed against the lined pages of their books. He felt left behind, lost in the dark floundering while life moved forward without him, yet that was how it had always been, and he refused to let it scare him this time.

He had made a promise after all.

"... it's a perambulation through time, a circle that begins and ends with his trauma," she was ranting, writing the words in looping letters across the whiteboard as she did so.

Swallowing back the static that prickled across the sudden thickness of his tongue, he raised his hand, squinting at the board and trying to repeat the word Ms Stephenson had said.

"What does 'perambulation' mean?" He asked, beating back the defensive apathy that rose up to try and silence him.

Almost the entire class turned to stare at him incredulously, their eyes wide with the disbelief that after all their years in high school together, Craig Tucker had finally asked a content-related question in class. Their gazes prickled against his flesh, but he merely lifted his chin defiantly and watched the silent woman at the front of the room, waiting for her answer.

Ms Stephenson looked at him with barely concealed loathing as she gestured with a careless wave towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room, "There's dictionaries over there for a reason, Craig, try using one instead of interrupting the class."

Kyle swivelled around in his seat, and, unable to lose an opportunity to show off his inexhaustible knowledge of everything, waved to catch Craig's attention.

"It means 'walking'," he supplied in a half-whisper, then turned back to face the front before Craig could so much as thank him.

_Why the fuck didn't she just_ _say_ **_walking_ ** _then? No wonder I feel like I can never understand a fucking thing people are talking about._

Despite finding the entire situation infuriating, the boy copied out the word diligently in his wide handwriting, wishing not for the first time that his teachers would be so kind as to write in clear print instead of cursive too so he might have been able to read the whiteboard easier. When he glanced back up towards the front of the class, he was more than slightly perturbed to find Wendy Testaburger still eyeing him suspiciously, the luridly pink pen in her hand frozen midway across her notebook page.

_What?_  He mouthed silently across at her, scowling mutinously, yet she merely glared back before returning to her work.

With gritted teeth, Craig did the same, throwing all his energy into trying to take notes whilst Ms Stephenson dictated to them in frenzied tangents and hoping all the while that Tweek would be able to help him make sense of all the nonsensical garbage she seemed to be spewing out about a book he hadn't yet read.

He was so focused on his work that he almost missed it when the small ball of crumpled paper landed beside his desk, rolling to a stop at the side of his scuffed Vans. The flicker of movement caught his eye, and he looked down towards it, baby pink and innocuous on the grubby classroom carpet.  
             Without thinking, he bent to pick it up, unfurling it with curious fingers to find it was a page ripped from a fancy stationary notepad, unmarked save for two lines of neat cursive at its centre that took forever for him to read.

_"What game are you playing, Craig Tucker?_   
_Who are you trying to pretend you care about education for? It better not be Bebe."_

Clearly, it was from Wendy. He looked up and over to her, meeting those untrusting eyes and feeling his lip curl into an demonic smirk. The paper ripped easily between his fingers, then he balled it back up and shoved it in his pocket without writing out the reply she so clearly craved.   
               Wendy scowled at the action, her lower lip jutting out in disappointment, but Craig was far from sympathetic as he picked up his pen and went back to note taking. He could feel her contempt for him grow with each passing second that he ignored her, but he didn't care, the exact same way he didn't care to answer her question.

Was he playing a game? No. Was all of this some sort of ploy to reinvent himself in the eyes of his peers? No. It wasn't for Bebe, or Wendy, or for anyone except the two people he knew he didn't have the heart to disappoint; his mom, and Tweek Tweak.

His mom of course because he didn't want to fail school and break her heart.   
Tweek because if he did fail, he was sure the boy would eat his.


	14. Spaceman Craig

_\- in which a boy must begin to confront his emotions; the final frontier -_

The Tweak Bros coffee shop was a hive of activity when Craig peeked in through the window that afternoon, the straps of his school bag digging into his shoulders as he scanned the interior space in search of a jittery blonde. Beneath warm yellow ceiling lights, a man and woman worked in tandem to serve the queue of customers trailing from the front counter to the door, their faces creased with stress.

_Mr and Mrs Tweak..._

Tweek's father was short and weedy, with a head of thinning curls that looked nothing like the tufty gold locks of his son. Craig could remember him from the day he and Tweek were suspended from elementary school, coming to pick up his bruised child in a beaten up sedan and seeming not to notice the wound carved into the boy's face as he told him to get in.   
               Mrs Tweak he hadn't met before, but as he watched her greeting the next customer with a smile he could see where his sort-of-friend had gotten his wide eyes and ski-jump nose from. However, in direct contrast to her son she was exceedingly calm, almost spaced out as she counted the money she was handed, smoothing out each dollar bill before placing it in the till.

Tweek himself was nowhere to be seen, and Craig felt a prickle of worry run down his spine as he rechecked his phone to see if the other boy had accepted his friend-request yet. It had gotten to the end of the school day before he had remembered he didn't know the golden boy's phone number or have him added on Facebook, and thus had no way of contacting him to find out his address. For a few minutes he'd tried to wrack his brains for anyone that he could ask, but he had truly never once seen Tweek with a single friend, and soon gave up on the idea of interrogating someone for information.

The coffee shop had been his last hope, having to get off the school bus early so that he could walk up to Main Street and find it. He figured that if it was Tweek's family that owned the store then the boy would certainly be in there, yet now as he stood at the glass front to the shop he felt that he may have been too presumptuous.

_He's probably at home chilling out in front of the tv and laughing at me for being enough of an idiot to believe he needed my help instead of the other way around._

Glumly kicking an empty  _Pabst_   _Blue Ribbon_  can near his feet, Craig was about to turn and leave when a flash of gold caught his eye, his head snapping up to stare as Tweek appeared from a door marked "Employees Only". He was backing out of what looked like a storeroom beyond the doorway, hauling a large sack of coffee beans with both hands, the wiry muscles in his arms flexing beneath the pale, freckled skin. For a moment he fumbled with the bag, and the sharpness of his shoulder blades strained against the thin cotton of his black t-shirt like wings about to burst through. It was the first time Craig had seen the boy wearing anything that wasn't a long-sleeved button-down shirt he noted distractedly, watching him carry the bag behind the counter and store it by the coffee machine.

When he turned to face the window, Craig smirked unthinkingly at the way his apron was tied on lopsided, then jolted as the two of them made eye contact through the glass. Behind the counter Tweak jumped a foot, his face spasming in a series of surprised twitches before he did something Craig didn't see coming; he grinned.   
               Ignoring his father's wordless bark of consternation, the blonde boy dashed out from behind the counter and towards the door. He moved so fast Craig barely had time to leap out of the way before the door was flying open and Tweek was blurring towards him like a streak of lightning.

"You're actually here! I didn't expect you to come," He exclaimed, his voice bright with genuine pleasure as he stumbled into the tall boy's side.

Craig caught him easily, feeling him vibrating against the skin of his palms as he halted his momentum. Tweek quickly righted himself, twitching bashfully as he stepped out of reach with his hands twisting in the front of his apron.

"Why wouldn't I? I said I would," Craig drawled, trying not to feel offended by the speed at which the gold haired boy had recoiled from his touch.

"Well.. I... But this means you'll miss  _Star Trek_ ," Tweek spluttered, his anxiety visibly spiking.

_I guess he didn't find his meds then._

"I'm sure you have a TV at your house," Craig reasoned, absentmindedly reaching out and pulling the askew apron so that it sat straight.

"Ah, well — I mean I guess," the blonde conceded, then groaned, "But just let me finish restocking first, or my dad's going to murder me. You can come inside and, ah I don't know, I could make you some coffee? Agh no you hate coffee don't you? Um -"

"Take it easy, Tweek," Craig placated him, resting gentle hands on either side of his shoulders just as he had that morning, "I'm fine to just sit and wait."

Tweek blinked a few times then nodded, his brow furrowing as he turned back towards the glass door of the shopfront, the movement allowing Craig a perfect view of Mr Tweak's expression of narrow-eyed suspicion as he watched them through the window. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the shrewdness behind his beady eyes left the boy unsettled as he followed the man's son into the coffee shop.

Inside was warm and fragrant, the scent on the air immediately recognisable as the rich, bitter smell of coffee that Tweek seemed constantly clouded in, and Craig wrinkled his nose in distaste as he was led to an empty table over at the far wall. A potted Peace Lily trailed darkly verdant leaves against the scratched wooden tabletop from where it sat on the shelf beside, and as he took the seat that faced the counter he realised the foliage of the plant mostly hid him from view.

_... and just when I think we're done openly hating each other, Tweek tries to hide me from his parents._

The thought was so bitter that Craig surprised himself, it tasting acrid across the roof of his mouth as he looked up with wide eyes towards the twitchy blonde. Tweek ran a trembling hand through his hair, swallowing nervously before finally meeting the dark blue gaze.

"Wait -- ah, I think I might know something you'll like? Wait here!" He rasped, his speech tumbling from between his anxious lips in a chaotic rush.

As he dashed off, Craig could only blink after him perplexedly as he tried to get used to the unmedicated version of the boy. It was kind of what he felt it would be like watching the beating heart of a small animal, if it's fur and skin were rendered see-through; all fragile and palpitating too rapidly, much too rapidly to last.   
             At a loss of what to do, and unwilling to keep spying through the leaves of the Peace Lily like some kind of stalker, Craig got out his phone and headphones. Unwinding the tangled cord and plugging it in, he picked a film from his ongoing list of movies he needed to see and began streaming it, propping the phone up against the pot plant.

The film was only five minutes in when Tweek returned, a lightly steaming takeaway cup in his hand. He placed it down in front of Craig in an overly careful movement, holding his own jittering wrist as if it would somehow steady him, and then leaned over to see what the other boy was so engrossed in on his phone screen.

"Whatcha watching?"

Craig blew a tuft of gold hair out of his face irritably before replying, trying his best to lean his head so that Tweek wasn't in such uncomfortably close proximity.

" _2001: A Space Odyssey,_ " he supplied, then when the blonde boy frowned momentarily he added helpfully, "You know, directed by Stanley Kubrick? The guy who did  _A Clockwork_   _Orange_."

The attempt at clarification only seemed to confuse Tweek further, a tic appearing in the corner of his right eye as he visibly wracked his brain for any clue as to what Craig was talking about. After a brief pause, he coughed self-consciously and admitted, "I don't think I've ever even heard of any clockwork fruit movies before."

The words were spoken soft and bashful, his amber gaze sliding down to settle on Craig's long fingers aimlessly twisting the headphone wire instead of looking at his face. Light lashes lowered towards the tops of his freckled cheeks, and something about it made Craig swallow the instinctually condemning response that tried to crawl up his throat.

"It's fair enough you haven't heard of it, man," he said with a small smile quirking the corner of his lips at having found one subject in which he knew more than Tweek, "Since it was on a ban list for like twenty-seven years after its initial release because it's so violent."

"Ah, that sounds awful, I mean surely something that — that violent is unwatchable?"

"No way, it's really really great," Craig assured him, "The cinematography is amazing; I'd rate it as one of the best films ever made even though it's not about space."

He was rambling a bit he realised, but the other boy seemed so genuinely intrigued that he couldn't help himself. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him about the things he was interested in, or even his opinion on something that wasn't some irrelevant piece of gossip from their high school.

Now it was Tweek's turn to look amused however, gold eyes lit up with the same gently teasing almost-laugh that rolled off his tongue sweet and honeyed as he asked, " _'Even though it's not about space'_? Are the only good films in the world about space?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Don't you ever watch films that are not about space and are like... nice?" Tweek queried, studying him as if he were an intricate puzzle that the boy was determined to solve.

"Like what?" Craig prompted, feeling his cheeks growing hot under the scrutiny.

"Like...  _Love Actually_ , or  _10 Things I Hate About You_ , or  _Say Anything_  or — or  _Notting Hill_."

He quirked a brow at each title in the list, rolling his eyes at the other boy as he drawled, "I don't watch films with romantic garbage in them."

Tweek gaped incredulously, the scar in his upper lip stretching with his mouth as he opened it to blurt an indignant reply.

"Romance is nice!! Some dude running through the airport to catch his lover just in time, or standing outside the front of their house with a boombox playing the perfect song? That's nice. "

"That's so... corny," Craig scoffed, wrinkling his nose.

"What's wrong with corny?" Tweek laughed, poking at the tip of Craig's nose as if to point out the sneer as he added teasingly, "Everyone needs a bit of corn now and then."

He smacked his hand away with an irritable growl.

"What the fuck for?"

"Ehh... nutrition," Tweek said, shrugging.

Craig was about to tell him he was a fuckwit when the golden boy then did something completely disarming; he smiled. It was warm and ever so slightly mischievous, all of his perfectly straight white teeth flashing in the wide grin.  
              Not even Craig's most apathetic self could remain unmoved by that smile, and instead of insulting Tweek Tweak, he found himself laughing along at the terrible joke, squinting one eye at the still-grinning boy as if it might somehow make it less dazzling to look at him.

"Well, maybe I could show you a good space film sometime, and then you show me one of your corny rom-coms," He offered, feeling his heart thud hard in his chest as he returned the smile with carefully hidden teeth, "Just so we can make sure to keep our diets balanced."

The sentiment behind the words was too vulnerable, too genuine; hanging suspended in the air between them as they shared a moment of something too fragile to try and name. It was surely called something the both of them already knew the word for, way down in the dark parts of them they had hidden behind made-up rules stating that they were to one day never speak to each other again.

It was futile, all that warmth between them, no matter how many smiles they shared, yet for a moment that small fact faded into silence as Tweek nodded shyly.

"I'd like that."

The two of them grinned at each other for a moment longer before Mr Tweak called out for his son from the front of the store, his voice stern and reprimanding. The gold-haired boy jolted, face twitching in a series of panicked spasms, and then seemed to waken from whatever friendly daze he'd been in as he stepped backwards from the table with a self-conscious blush.

"Ah, yeah, well, anyway..." Tweek stammered, pointing at the cup he'd brought over earlier, "That's a Chai Latte. I don't know if you've had one before but I promise it's not coffee and it's not tea, it's kind of like warm frothy spiced milk. It didn't feel right making you wait with nothing so... you can just try it and see what you think! I'll be finished in maybe five minutes."

With that he dashed off again before Craig could reply, the boy left sitting behind the Peace Lily with a glow he didn't feel very often still lighting up the cavity of his chest. He tried to crush it at first, fingers curling tight around the candlelight and hoping to dim the flame, yet the longer he stared at the paper cup Tweek had brought him the more his grip loosened, until he could examine the feeling despite his fear.   
               It was gratitude he realised, as well as the pleasure of being thought of without someone needing to have thought of him at all. Tweek owed him nothing, was the one doing Craig a favour by hurrying his chores to be able to help him study, and yet the boy had still wanted to give him something.

_Maybe he's not a nerdy dickhead at all, and it was me who was just being the jerk._

_..._

_Then again, he's the one who said I was an "emotionless thug" so actually he's definitely a fucking dickhead._

Picking up the cup, he brought it up to his mouth and took a cautious sip. The liquid inside was surprisingly sweet, tasting strongly of cinnamon and other spices he couldn't hope to identify. It sparked warmly against his tongue as he slowly drained the cup whilst his attention flickered between  _2001: A Space Odyssey_  and Tweek as he flitted about the store restocking supplies and cleaning up after customers who left coffee-stained mugs and crumb-covered plates at their tables. Every now and then he snuck a glance at Mr Tweak, and was perturbed to discover on more than one occasion that the man was watching him with that same calculating expression, and the feeling of his gaze on Craig's skin left him trying not to shudder with discomfort.

In no time at all Tweek reappeared at the table, his apron absent and a takeaway cup of what he guessed was coffee in his hand. There was a wordless gesture towards the door, and after shouldering his backpack once more, Craig followed the twitchy blonde out through the glass door and into the cold of the street, their breath hanging like clouds in the air around them.

"My house is down this way," Tweek mumbled, blinking rapidly and pointing diagonally across the main road towards a side street that led to the lower East part of town.

They waited for a car to pass and then stepped out onto the snow-soaked asphalt, Craig loping lazily along behind as the other boy sprinted across to the other side as if the hounds of hell were on his tail. Quirking a brow, he glanced left and right in search for the nonexistent traffic that Tweek was running from, before teasingly stopping in the exact middle of the road. Hands in his pockets, he watched with detached intrigue as the blonde turned around and caught sight of him, amber eyes widening.

"Hurry up!! Get out of the street you lunatic!" He ordered shrilly, his hands on his hips as if he were a mother scolding her disobedient child.

Craig had to bite back the smirk that threatened to ruin his perfectly nonchalant visage as he did as he was bidden, trying his best not to show just how amused he was by the overly protective side of Tweek's unmedicated personality. It felt like a new game of "Made You Look" he had just discovered, except this one would be called "Made You Care".   
                 Walking the rest of the way to the opposite side of the street, he was unprepared for when the highly-strung boy irritably kicked the dirty roadside snow at him, his brows drawn together in a scowl.

"Do you enjoy having the most abrasive personality of anyone in the entirety of South Park?" Tweek growled through gritted teeth, stepping in close so that they were toe to toe. He was a good few inches shorter than Craig, having to tilt his face upwards to continue glaring feistily at him whilst the other boy's eyes only widened in surprise.

_His lips are so chapped... it's like he's never used lip balm in his life._

It occurred to him that he was staring at the boy's mouth instead of replying, and with a frown he shoved Tweek roughly backwards as if some increased distance might help him think of something to say. The movement only further incensed the quivering blonde however, who let out a small shriek of rage.

"Don't fucking push me!"

"Well don't..."  _come so close._

He found he couldn't say it, swallowing back the words as the defensive aggression ebbed from his body and he was left standing shameful in the snow.

"Come on, we're going to miss  _Star Trek_ ," Tweek sighed, running a hand through his spiky hair before gesturing towards the side road they'd been heading towards.

It was an apology without the actual word "sorry" needing to be used, and Craig was only too happy to accept it with a wordless nod of his own. Truce momentarily back in place, the two of them set off towards their destination in stubborn silence. Every now and then, the dark haired boy would sneak a glance at his silent companion, drinking in the image of his pale face slowly relaxing from its frown every time he caught Craig looking out of the corner of his eye, until finally he elbowed him with the hint of a smirk.

"Stop staring at me, you big space nerd," Tweek teased, his raspy voice giving away the anxiety that lay beneath his words.

The void in the centre of Craig whispered something about it having been a mistake to have shared his love of sci-fi movies with the blonde boy, but it was almost too quiet to hear over the feeling of bashful warmth that sparked through him. He carefully kept his mask of indifference as he gave Tweek a dismissive eye-roll, hoping the heat in his cheeks looked like it was from the cold wind instead of a blush.

"You're the only nerd here, man," He replied dryly, then frowned as he asked out of genuine interest, "Why _do_  you care so much about your grades? You already have a job sorted for after school finishes: the Tweak family coffee business."

He was given a baleful look, the other boy wrinkling his nose up as if the very idea of him still working at the coffee store after graduation offended him.

"My parents don't pay me, and besides, I don't want to work in a coffee shop the rest of my life," Tweek grumbled, then brightened as he confided, "I'm going to go to college and study sound design."

Craig raised his brows but otherwise said nothing, wondering exactly what kind of sounds the blonde boy wanted to "design". He caught his eye, still fixed upon him expectantly, and the painful realisation struck that his companion was waiting for him to share his after-graduation goals. Self-consciously fixing his hat more securely over his head, he quickly averted his gaze.

_If I tell him I either want to be an astronaut or dead, he will definitely never let me live it down._

Tweek seemed to catch the hint, because he didn't press the subject any further as he led Craig down the side street and stopped in front of a house that had been painted the colour of a plum. Other than it's hue, there were no other distinguishing features that marked it as an different from the other South Park houses, which were almost uniform in their double-storey rows, yet as soon as the boy laid eyes on it he knew it was Tweek's. Perhaps it was because someone had left the right-side top window open wide to let the cold billow in, or maybe it was what was being exuded outwards from it, exhaled from the house itself like a great gusty sigh. Not a scent, nor anything visible to the naked eye, yet a definite  _something_  that seemed to prickle in the air around them as the gold-haired boy shuffled his feet and looked shyly up at Craig through his soft lashes.

"Mmm well... here we are," He mumbled, gesturing to the house with a trembling hand before averting his gaze as his face started to twitch.

A twinge of discomfort twisted itself deep inside Craig's chest as he mutely watched Tweek turn away to hide his nervous tic, wanting to know the words he could say, if there were any at all, that could express how sorry he was for ever having teased him about it. A way to erase nicknaming him "Twitch", to undo every sneer and smirk. Yet whether he knew the right words or not, he didn't speak, instead just following Tweek up to the door and waiting on the lowest step for him to unlock it with his shaky hands.   
                The key scratched against the centre of the handle, dancing past and around the keyhole multiple times from the ever-increasing trembling of the one who held it, and Craig watched with his jaw clenched in the agony of empathy; a feeling he usually tried his best to avoid.

"So I guess you didn't find your meds today? You know, I have some birthday money from my grandma that you can borrow to buy new ones," He offered suddenly, blurting out the words to the blonde boy in a clumsy rush, then coughing self-consciously and adding, "If you'd like."

_If you'd like..._

He had thought it would make him sound like he cared less, yet the phrase seemed to slip from his tongue and between his lips coated in all the insecurity, all the vulnerability, that he had been trying to hide with the words themselves. It hung suspended between them, as fragile and helpless as if Craig had just held up his entire hand in a game of cards and shown the other boy the exact sum of what he had to offer.

The key finally slid into the lock, ending the rattling sound of metal on metal so that there was nothing but the muted sounds of suburbia humming in the background as Tweek looked back over his shoulder with a perplexed expression.

"You'd do that? For  _me?_  Why?"

His voice cracked as he asked the incredulous questions, amber eyes wide with disbelief as they searched Craig's warily, as if he were looking for the hint of mocking deception in their depths. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make the dark haired boy feel stripped of his armour, of his skin, of muscle and sinew until he was pared back to the very bones of his being. It was terrifying, yet he stood his ground, unwilling to yield to Tweek's suspicion and take back what he had said when he knew he honestly meant it.

"Well, we're some kind of an unwilling team now, right?" He reasoned slowly, the heat flushing to his face.

"I guess..."

"Then I'm rooting for you, Tweek; you and everything else that comes with you," He murmured, his throat seeming to constrict with anxiety as he finished bashfully, "Even if it means buying you more of your tranquilliser medication."

_I need to shut up and get a grip. I need to be less... less what? Less friendly? Less caring? Less_ **_something._ ** _He's going to think I'm a fucking wimp or a -- a_ **_fag_ ** _if I don't cut it out with this sentimental shit._

Searching frantically within himself for his Numbness, he tried to swallow back the nausea that rose up from the pit of his stomach alongside the anxiety that was beginning to flood his system. He wanted to sit down on the snow-covered step and shove his knuckles into his eyes until he saw stars, wanted to scratch open the collapsed length of his throat to find whatever seemed to be blocking it and pull it out with bloodied nails. He wanted not to have to hear the golden boy's reply, wanted not to feel the heat of his gaze against his skin and not to have the knowledge of it bringing colour to his cheeks.

Then Tweek spoke, and it was a warm honeyed rasp that soothed the sharp panic settling in Craig's chest, that quelled the nausea to the point that he felt almost hungry as he listened to the sweet sound.

"I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me."

There was a heartbeat in time when everything was still, the gold-haired boy watching the brooding one watch his own feet, then Craig finally looked up to meet his eye, swallowing hard against his own habit of keeping his thoughts to himself.

"It shouldn't be."

Tweek's responding smile was sad, his hand reaching up to push open the front door to his house and step inside as he replied simply, "Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't really have any friends, Craig."

The lounge room beyond the doorway was painted a mustard yellow, with a matching set of plum coloured furniture that garishly echoed the outer colour of the house. Stepping inside, the two of them took off their wet shoes by the doorway, Tweek by shakily untying the laces and Craig by kicking his off carelessly as he coughed to clear his throat.

"I kind of did notice actually... don't you get lonely?" He asked, feeling as indelicate as if he were an elephant trying to walk across eggshells.

"Yeah, a lot of the time," was the shrugging reply, his jittery companion making his way over to the television set and turning it on.

Whilst Tweek flicked through the channels to find the one that aired  _Star Trek_ , Craig struggled hard to push down the guilty memory of having previously held him in contempt for his lack of friends. For the first time he felt like he was looking at the other boy as a person instead of a series of character defects become sentient, and it left him at a loss for how to manoeuvre through the space between them; unsure of how to be kind if it put him at the risk of being vulnerable.

He supposed, it must start with replying something genuine. Something human.

"I'm sorry."

Their eyes met, both seemingly as equally surprised by his answer, before Tweek shook his head vigorously, the spiky tufts of his blonde hair bobbing with the movement.

"Don't be, I have a monotone, passive-aggressive study partner to keep me company now," he said with the beginnings of a smirk, finding the right channel and plonking himself down on the couch.

"Oh, he sounds annoying," Craig replied dryly, rolling his eyes at the grin slowly spreading itself across the other boy's face as he joined him in front of the television.

"Yeah, I thought so at first too," The blonde boy agreed teasingly, voice light and laughing, "But now I'm starting to think it might be just a front. I mean, anyone who likes space movies and chai lattes can't be  _that_  heartless, can they?"

"They definitely can. Don't be fooled," Craig scoffed, trying not to smile at the sound of Tweek's wheezy laughter as they both turned their attention to the spacemen onscreen.

They had missed the first ten minutes of the episode, but it was one he had seen too many times to count, and he quickly filled Tweek in on why McCoy was acting crazy and the Star Enterprise crew were talking about time portals. The blonde boy looked slightly perplexed yet nodded along dutifully, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of it all.  
              After that they mostly watched in comfortable silence, laughing every now and then at poorly-aged special effects or debating whether or not Captain Kirk was meaning to pout on all his close-ups (Tweek said yes, Craig said a firm no). Near the end of the episode, as Kirk confided his love for Edith Keeler to Spock, Tweek made a gasping noise, turning to Craig with the look of someone who had just had an epiphany.

"I just figured it out," He gloated, wiggling his eyebrows in mock suggestiveness, "Spock is in love with that captain dude."

Craig groaned.

"You sound like my mom."

"She's right! Stop being in denial, man," Tweek laughed, explaining excitably, "I mean, look at what just happened; Captain Fancypants --"

" _Kirk_ ," Craig corrected.

"-- declared that he loved this lady, and then Spock literally just responds with 'she must die'," Tweek continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "What could be more blatantly jealous than that?"

"She has to die to stop Nazi Germany from killing everyone, not because Spock is  _jealous_ ," Craig replied hotly, scowling at the television instead of the blonde boy's annoyingly amused expression.

"To stop Nazi Germany AND to stop her from stealing the love of Spock's life?"

"They're NOT gay!"

The vehemence of Craig's outburst made Tweek first flinch and then begin to laugh, the skin at the outer corners of his eyes crinkling up as it turned into the breathy wheezing sound that the other boy was beginning to know well. He shot him an unimpressed look, reaching over to playfully shove his head towards the opposite end of the sofa and feeling the soft feathery texture of his hair against his palm.

Despite disliking being teased, he was glad to see Tweek seeming much calmer than he had been earlier, his twitches less frequent and the trembling of his body now barely noticeable. It made it hard to maintain his sour mood over the possible homosexual love between his two favourite  _Star Trek_  characters, and by the time the credits started rolling on the episode he had entirely forgiven the golden boy for any and all of his offences.

Turning off the TV with a flick of the remote, Tweek's hands absently fiddled with the stitching across the hem of his T-shirt as he stood up and announced, "Study time."

"Okay," Craig agreed glumly, his voice flat and nasal with displeasure.

The two of them made their way up the stairs to Tweek's bedroom, which turned out to be one in which the open window he'd noticed from outside was located. The room itself was small and cramped, most of the space taken up by the bed on one side of the room and an upright piano pushed against the wall between a beaten up study desk and the window on the other.

Craig almost shook his head in disbelief at the instrument, internally laughing at himself for not having guessed it straight away when he'd been wondering what Tweek played the other day. He resisted the urge to comment on it, instead walking over and idly lifting the lid up and down as he scanned the rest of the room.   
                The carpet was a forest green, like the plush grass of a shadowy meadow, whilst the walls had been painted a clashing brick-red that was in dire need of a new coat to cover all the scuff-marks and cracks that had accumulated across its surface. There were a pair of scarlet boxing gloves hanging on the back of the bedroom door, and a punching bag slouching in the corner like some defeated foe. On all other available surfaces were the creations of someone who was clearly often bored and alone; intricate model aeroplanes and strange creatures made from self-drying clay painted to perfection, hand drawn sheet music screwed up into crumpled snowballs, and numerous old takeaway coffee cups stacked up like a castle.

When he finally looked back over to where Tweek had seated himself on his bed with all his school books, he caught the boy watching him anxiously, chewing on his chapped lower lip with enough force that it had split open and begun to ooze blood. The sight made his heart lurch, and it was with a kind of performative guilt that he sat down at the piano and fully lifted the lid, readying his hands at the keys with a flourish as if he were Beethoven about to perform a symphony.

"Should I play you the song that was written about me?" He asked tonelessly, glancing backwards to see Tweek nodding with a mixture of intrigue and confusion drawn across his features.

Turning back to the black and white keys before him, Craig pushed his index finger against the last key on the far left and held it down, causing a single elongated and dully low note to drone from the instrument. After a few seconds the sound wavered into silence, and the boy removed his finger and closed the lid of the piano gently before swivelling towards his audience to give a seated mock-bow.

"Wait -- that's it?" Tweek coughed, laughing as the joke dawned on him.

"I feel it describes me perfectly," Craig intoned flatly, shrugging even as he tried not to smile in victory at having distracted the blonde boy from his own nerves.

"No way man, you'd be something else," Tweek protested, "I can't think of the exact song yet but I'll let you know when I figure it out."

He said it like a promise he meant to keep, wiry arms hugging his shins and his cheek resting atop his knees as he watched from across the room. The pose resembled that of a small child, and for a moment Craig could envision him exactly as he'd been in Fourth Grade, layering the ghost-like past over the present. Longer, more wildly unkempt hair, a freckled face and chest that hadn't yet lost their puppy-fat, and no scar raked vertically down his upper lip. 

_Maybe in a parallel universe, we'd become friends after the fight instead of pretending each other didn't exist. Maybe in that version of the world he wouldn't be lonely all the time, here in his bedroom making models instead of interacting with people._

The thought tasted cruelly sweet as he let it unfurl through his mind, feeling it ache in the hollow space where he was sure his heart should have been.

_Maybe in that version of the world I don't feel empty all the time and my dad decided we were all worth fighting for instead of giving up so easy. Maybe Clyde asks me how I am instead of crying to me about the most recent thing Bebe has done to upset him, and maybe Token and Jimmy don't see me as a problem too difficult to try and solve._

He supposed, as he watched Tweek unfold himself and make his way over to join him at the piano, that maybe a lot of things could have worked out for the better if he'd chosen differently. Yet it was only this path that had led him to where he now sat, with the blonde boy leaning over him to open up the sheet music that was propped up against the stand, so perhaps his version of the world might turn out alright after all.

"Do want to hear what I've been practicing for the Performing and Visual Arts Showcase Night at the end of the semester?" Tweek asked hopefully, and Craig nodded as he slid over on the bench seat to make room.

The bitter smell of coffee tickled at his nose as the boy sat close beside him, lifting the lid that was covering the keys and glancing up at the sheet music that had been written out in unmistakeable cramped handwriting. It took a moment for Craig to read the title of the song, dark blue eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on the letters that spelled out the word  _"Fireproof"_.   
              There were lyrics written out beneath the hand-drawn music staves, but any attempt he might have made towards deciphering them was foiled the moment Tweek started playing, his fingers dancing with fluid grace across the keys. The song began as a series of melancholy notes that flowed into alternate repetitions of themselves created by his right hand whilst the left played a series of chords over the top. It was mesmerising to watch, the sound swelling from the instrument and vibrating in Craig's chest as he leaned in close to listen just as Tweek began to sing.

"You keep a lot of secrets,  
And I keep none."

His voice was scratchy and light, reminding the boy of how it sounded when his dad used to play records without blowing the dust off the vinyl first. Surprised, he froze, closing his eyes in anticipation for the next lines.

"Wish I could go back,  
And keep some,

You're fireproof;  
Nothing breaks your heart,  
You're fireproof;  
It's just the way you are."

Tweek sang like the words were made of himself; his breath, his beating blood and breaking bones. He sang like it cost nothing to bear your soul, and Craig wanted to tell him it did, it truly did, yet also wished for him to never find out so that maybe he'd never stop.

"You're a needle in the hay,  
You're the water at the door,  
You're a million miles away,  
Doesn't matter anymore."

There was a hush when the song ended, Tweek suddenly shy as he closed the piano lid in a lovingly gentle movement, placing his trembling hands atop the black lacquered wood and studying them intently.

"Man, no wonder you're ready to kill me if I fail and get you banned from doing music class," Craig murmured into the quiet, feeling dazed, "That was amazing."

"Gah, I don't know -- I mean, I have heaps more practice I need to do to get it right," Tweek fretted, then paused to inhale deeply and met his gaze with a smile, "But thanks, Craig."

With no more possible distractions allowed, the two of them finally sat down on the boy's haphazardly made bed and spread out their notebooks between them; Craig by up-ending his schoolbag over the russet quilt, and Tweek by neatly placing each one in front of his crossed legs like a fan of cards. Craig watched him straighten them fussily, and felt his brows knit together in a frown.

"Does everything have to be perfect with you?" He asked dully, gesturing to the books and then to the room in general, "I mean, surely it's not normal to be this neat."

"Surely it's not normal to be as messy as  _you_  are," Tweek snapped defensively, before sighing and explaining, "I used to be really untidy when I was a kid, and leave everything out everywhere. It was like I couldn't pay attention to anything for too long so I was constantly getting toys out and then leaving them scattered everywhere when I moved on to the next thing."

"So what changed?"

"My parents told me if I didn't start tidying up after myself they'd sell me into slavery so I'd have to spend the rest of my life cleaning up someone else's messes," He mumbled, blushing when he caught Craig's incredulous look and adding hurriedly, "I think they were joking! ... Maybe. They were possibly not quite as serious as I thought they were. Anyway, the -- the point is that I now get a bit stressed when things aren't in their place."

"... I think that's called being traumatised," Craig drawled, yet didn't press the matter further as he opened up his English book to his page of notes from that day and passed it over to Tweek.

The gold-haired boy scoured the page quickly, grinning when he read the phrase  _"perambulation through time"_  and Craig's subsequent side-note about how "perambulate" was a stupid word that snobby assholes used instead of just saying "walking". Copying out the notes dutifully into his own workbook, he was still smiling warmly when he looked back up at the blank-faced boy who had come to his rescue.

"This is so great, you've got so many good points here," Tweek commented happily, "I knew you could do it if you tried."

Craig allowed his mouth to curve ever so slightly upwards in response to the positive feedback, then shook his head, suddenly feeling he had to explain his reluctance to bother taking notes in class before that day.

"It's not that I don't try," He sighed, feeling nerves flutter in his stomach as he said in a rush, "It's that I usually get stopped by The Numbness."

It was the first time he had ever named the void within him aloud, the first time he had even begun to tell anyone about it at all, and he almost gasped with the relief that flooded through him as soon as the words left his tongue.

"What numbness?" Tweek asked slowly, his tone like that of someone speaking to a potentially dangerous animal; soft yet cautious.

"It's... It's like... you know how when a star dies, it becomes a black hole? And the black hole sucks in everything around it and never stops because it can never be filled? It's like that," Craig explained, grappling for the right words to say that could make Tweek understand.

Tweek Tweak, who if anything had  _too much_  emotion, who could communicate how he felt in just the slightest shift of tone in his voice; who Craig found himself envying as he watched the boy's amber eyes grow wide with compassion.

"So what does it feel like when you're in class?"

"It feels like everyone is talking too fast, and the writing on the board is in another language no one ever taught me, and that either I don't care or I'm stupid, and I'd rather choose that I don't care," He sighed, "Even if it means that the big numb feeling inside me grows, I'd rather not even attempt the work and be called slack than try to do it and fail."

"That's awful, Craig, I'm so sorry," Tweek murmured gently, reaching forward as if he were going to place his hand over the other boy's before seemingly thinking better of it and patting his knee instead.

"It's fine," Craig shrugged, trying to ignore the way his heart had slammed against his sternum in panic at the thought of Tweek holding his hand.

"Do you feel numb right now?" The golden boy asked, unaware of the effect he had had on his pulse.

"No, not really," He replied quietly, picking at a loose thread on his jacket as he added, "But I usually don't feel it when I'm with you anyway. I think you stress me out too much."

The insight made Tweek first look chuffed and then scoff as he visibly grappled with the idea that he had the ability to cause anyone stress, seeming to think things only worked the other way around. With a laugh he playfully swatted at one of the ear flaps on Craig's woollen hat, his teeth flashing in a smile.

"Glad I could be of some use then."

Trading English for Calculus, the two continued their efforts to catch Tweek up on the work he had missed, this time with Craig reading out the math equation from his book and Tweek solving it before checking his answer against the other boy's to see if he was correct. Even without Ms Ellen to contend with, the subject matter was so boring that Craig soon began sketching in the margins of his notebook and openly yawning instead of rechecking his answers.

"Maybe you'd feel less empty about your classes if you just kept envisioning what you're working towards once we graduate," Tweek mused aloud, waiting a few moments for his stoically unforthcoming companion to reply before adding, "Otherwise you need to pick up at least  _one_ class that makes you happy. What's something you care about?"

"I don't care about anything."

A lie.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The golden boy frowned, the end of his pen lifting up to his mouth so he could chew on it thoughtfully whilst studying Craig with a heated intensity. His gaze prickled across his skin and sunk into the tissue beneath, too far from the surface to ever satisfy the itch by scratching at it.

"Do you still want to be an astronaut?" He finally asked, and Craig choked.

_How did he know?? How the fuck did he guess that?_

The boy's brain scrambled to try and formulate a response, his jaw dropping open in such genuine shock that Tweek laughed huskily, putting him out of his misery by quickly explaining, "You used to always play in the street with Clyde and be Spaceman Craig; I remember seeing you guys out there all the time when I lived at my old house. You had an astronaut helmet and everything."

Craig couldn't help but smile at the mention of his spaceman helmet, which his mom had spent hours making for him out of a large perspex fish bowl and old radio antennas. He had loved that helmet, and had worn it whenever he'd gotten the chance, right up until the day that his dad had snatched it off his head in a fit of rage and thrown it so hard against the lounge room wall that the plastic had cracked down the middle. He'd been angry at his wife, not his son, but Craig had made the mistake of hurrying past them during the screaming match and been the perfect outlet for all the pent-up aggression that lived inside the towering figure that was Thomas Tucker.

_Mom told me she'd fix it, but she never got around to it I guess._

"Yeah well, I think I would have grown out of that helmet by now," He dismissed awkwardly, admitting, "It'd still be great to be an astronaut though. I want to be up there in all that nothing, so then it doesn't matter that I'm nothing."

Tweek studied him for a long silent moment, his face pale and sad in the gathering dusk that was settling outside his bedroom window. He looked ageless, there in the half-light, and Craig etched the image into his mind as if he were witnessing something soon to be forever barred from him. Although he wasn't sure why, he felt something was ending as the golden boy opened his mouth to speak, his lips soft as they shaped the words.

"You're far from nothing, Craig Tucker."

It mattered too much, far too much, to make sense. He knew it even as he felt the flickering light in his chest burst into a bright glow, his mind grabbing hungrily for the sentiment even as it tried to push it away.  
                 At a loss for words, he swallowed hard against the strange lump that was forming in his throat, murmuring out a meek "thank you" that was barely audible even in the quiet of the room.

"And for the record, I don't think you actually want to be an astronaut," Tweek informed him, blinking catlike when their eyes met from across the space between them as he continued, "I think you just can't be bothered with the world, and that's your version of trying to jump ship."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fireproof | The National](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApuabRjYvSI) \- in case anyone wanted to have a listen to what Tweek was covering.  
>  Sorry for the big gap between chapters this time! I was trying to get this one perfect, as well as being a bit distracted by uni and also just life in general. Also thank you so so much to everyone who has been commenting, it brings so much joy to my day to read all your feedback and see the kudos you guys have left me X


	15. The Boy With the Thorn in His Side

_\- in which Craig Tucker loses his way -_

The dream found him again; it always did in the end.

The dark stretching out into forever with all its scattered starlight too far for him to reach, and Craig floating small and solitary towards them all. It's the same as ever, except this time he's a child with a hollow stomach, with hungry hands that haven't yet learned to make fists when his pulse starts to race. No spacesuit protects him from the crushing black of the universe; just a helmet made by someone who loves him.

Love isn't enough; a crack-line appears down the front of the visor.

He looks down at his little pale feet kicking as if treading water, seeming vulnerably bare as they poke out the bottom of his  _Red Racer_  pyjamas. Is he sinking down down to the very bottom of the nothingness? He can't tell anymore, but he knows he isn't floating towards the stars anymore and as the panic begins to settle into the marrow of his bones he cries out a single question into the silence.

_"Where did you go?"_

He awoke with sweat icy across his skin, chest heaving as ragged breaths tried to supply the ache of his lungs. Adrenaline carried him from the bed in a flurry of frightened footsteps, stumbling to the light switch and slamming it on with a clammy slap from his searching palm.

The crushing darkness instantly vanished, the ceiling light overhead illuminating his chaotically messy bedroom with white fluorescence. Panting and leaning with his back against the door, he searched the corners of the room for something, anything, to be afraid of, then shook his head angrily as he realised there was nothing but his own slovenly habit of leaving dirty laundry on the floor to see.

_What am I, a child?_

With a sigh he turned to the bedroom door and yanked it open, stalking down the hallway to the bathroom and flicking the light switch. The bulb overhead buzzed and flickered to life much slower than the one in his room, allowing him small glimpses of his own pale face in the mirror above the sink before the ugly vision could truly render itself.   
             His black hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, the two cowlicks he detested sticking up like misshapen antennae. Wide, bloodshot eyes looked back at him from the reflection, bright as if with unshed tears, and he grimaced and averted his gaze.

Twisting on the tap, the water gurgled and spat out of the faucet to fall icy cold in his cupped hands as he splashed his face. Rivulets ran down his neck and over his bare chest, drawing goosebumps across the pale skin until an involuntary shiver ran through him.

_There's usually a star I float towards; the dream always starts big and dark and lonely but then I float towards the stars and it all makes sense._

He couldn't understand it, clutching the porcelain edge of the sink and staring at the drip of the tap as if it could somehow explain why life had gotten so bad that even his dreams had turned into nightmares. For so long now the spaceman dream had been the only time he felt truly happy, blissfully asleep and reaching out for the pale gold star, so much that he would look forward to going to bed at night just so that he could escape reality and feel some sort of warmth.

_I can't do it... I can't live with all this emptiness inside me if I'm now not even going to be able to get away from it in my own dreams._

The panic returned, so sour across his tongue that he gagged and choked. The Numbness bristled and greedily nibbled at the razorblades of anxiety tearing apart his stomach, and Craig pressed his hands against the static as if it could somehow keep it at bay whilst he searched desperately through the desert of his mind for a reason not to fall apart.

Heavy breathing, the roaring of the blood in his ears, then the memory of a raspy voice cutting through it all.

_"I don't think you actually want to be an astronaut, I think you just can't be bothered with the world, and that's your version of trying to jump ship."_

Tweek. He could see him in his mind's eye as he'd been that afternoon, chewing on the end of a pen lid and shaking his head at Craig's indignant disagreement.

"I don't think the two are exclusive."

He hadn't let himself consciously think about his old spaceman helmet in years, but when it had been mentioned he couldn't get the image of it broken on his family's living room floor out of his head. It made him want to hold onto something, to anything, that might have made sense of that senseless act of violence.

Even if it meant defending a childhood dream he'd never committed to trying to make come true.

"Come on man, I mean, have you looked up the applications process for NASA? Have you even made  _any_  efforts towards getting the right qualifications?" Tweek had probed, seeming irritatingly reasonable as the other boy began to feel his temper rise.

"I've at least taken the right subject choices for it," He'd snapped, inwardly cringing at how defensive he sounded.

"And then let yourself almost — almost fail every one of them?" Tweek retorted, frowning as he started to talk in that halting way of his that betrayed the fact he was becoming overly anxious, "What kind of inspired, genuinely motivated work ethic is that?"

"I don't know."

"Don't pull that shit with me, man. I thought we'd moved past this," The golden boy growled in frustration, and the way his amber eyes narrowed with a sense of genuine hurt made Craig's jaw clench.

"We haven't moved past anything," he said flatly, pulling open the void inside of him and shoving the entirety of himself into it as he did the same to his books into his school bag.

"You're — you're just leaving?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Then he'd been shouldering the backpack and walking swiftly from the room, from the piano music still echoing in his mind, and from Tweek Tweak, sitting stunned and twitching angrily on the russet of his bedspread.

It seemed so stupid now, staring at the dark gaps in the plug hole and feeling his heart breaking at the thought he'd maybe ruined something before it could even truly begin. That perhaps he always ruined things before they could truly begin, in acts of violence and unforgivable cowardice, out of the scrawny scraps of his own self-pride.

What hurt most was the realisation that came to him as he stood there on the cold bathroom tiles, almost in tears over the warmth of a dream he felt had been stolen from him; that despite it having once been true that the only time he felt happiness was whilst dreaming of floating through space, after the past few days it was now no longer the case. The glowing feeling of opening his arms to embrace the stars had been coming more often, in flickering flashes and chai lattes made especially for him, all thanks to the stubbornness of one boy who was unwilling to fail.

_... and I just threw it all in his face._

With an exhausted sigh, Craig rubbed at his itchy eyes with the back of one cold hand, swallowing down the regret that tried to bubble up within him. He had let his emotions get the better of him, started fighting against his own apathy, and it had only made him feel worse. The answer was to therefore close himself up again and turn back into the "emotionless thug" he supposedly always had been anyway, he was sure of it.

Maybe once he felt nothing again he would have a better chance of finding something new to dream about, something that Tweek would have no chance of spoiling with reality.

It was with his jaw set in grim determination that he returned to his bedroom, ignoring the way the trip through the darkness made his pulse quicken. Crawling beneath the sheets, he glared up into the darkness with a kind of sleeplessness that would not abate; chasing him until the early hours of the morning pulled him into thrashing rest.

 

When he next awoke it was to the sound of Laura Tucker knocking loudly against his door and calling out that he was going to miss his bus if he didn't get out of bed immediately. When he yelled back in return that he didn't care whether he missed the bus or not, delving deeper into the warmth of the comforter with his eyes tightly shut, the woman shoved open the door and stood with hands on hips over him.

"If that's the case, then should I dial your father's number for you now or later? Because I think you had a birthday phone call you had to return."

At the mere mention of their previous deal, Craig practically launched himself off the mattress, mumbling something that sounded like  _"NopleasepleaselookI'mawake"_  as he immediately started digging around in the nearest pile of dirty laundry in search of something to wear. His mom wrinkled her nose, looking on in concern as he pulled out a pair of black jeans and sniffed them.

"Munchkin, can you please put some of these things in the washing machine before you leave?" She asked in a tired sigh, smiling when he looked up at her and adding teasingly, "None of the girls at school will ever want to date you if you smell like a dirty sock."

_You would think that, and yet..._

"I showered yesterday," the boy grumbled, secretly wishing that he did in fact smell bad enough that the girls would leave him alone.

Or at least, just one girl in particular.

"Well good on you for accomplishing the bare minimum required for a normal level of personal hygiene, sweetheart," his mom replied dryly, rolling her eyes and returning the gesture when he flipped her the bird in response.

It was with a scowl that Craig dressed in a random t-shirt and jeans he found on the floor, pulling on his lumpy birthday sweater over the top when his usual overcoat proved too filthy to wear. Picking up a large armful of clothes, he carried them down the stairs to the basement where the washing machine and dryer sat in the dim light like a pair of forgotten friends.  
               When he was a child he had loved helping his mom with the laundry, had liked the scent of the powder and watching the clothes tumble around in the suds. He'd loved it so much that he'd once tried to show Clyde when they were nine-years-old, and had been surprised to find out that apparently there was nothing "fun" about doing laundry at all, that it was actually supposed to be a "chore".

The memory of his own lameness made him cringe as he shoved the heap of clothes into the washing machine and carelessly put in a scoop of powder, slamming the door closed with an unnecessary amount of force. It was only as he pressed the button to make the cycle start that he remembered he had forgotten to get his favourite t-shirt back from Tweek after he'd taken it home to put in the dryer the day before, and swore under his breath.

_Great. First the twitchy asshole turns my dream into a nightmare and now he's stolen my best shirt; it's like he's genuinely trying to make my life miserable._

The thought wasn't fair, wasn't even in the realm of being rational, but the boy was fed up with being reasonable, especially if it meant having to take responsibility for himself. With the consolation that at least it was Friday and soon school would be over for the week, he dawdled back up the stairs and grabbed his backpack on the way out of the house, having to jog lightly to catch up with Tricia.

"Mom thinks you're mentally deranged," was all his sister said by way of acknowledgment when he arrived at her side, reaching up to yank his hat over his eyes when he gave her a death-stare in return.

"Okay," Craig intoned flatly, swatting her hand away and trying not to feel hurt.

"Well, she actually said she thinks your constant bad mood might be something more than just teenage angst," Tricia relented, then poked out her tongue and added, "But I set her straight."

"Oh yeah? What did you tell her?" He drawled, unable to resist his own curiosity.

They were nearing the bus stop, allowing him a view of Clyde and Jimmy sitting together like always on the sheltered bench seat as the rumbling yellow vehicle pulled up to the kerb. The sight made his stomach twist with anxiety, although he couldn't pinpoint whether it was because of what had happened with Bebe yesterday or something else.

"The truth? That you're only miserable because you're in love with the chick from the  _Alien_ movies and she isn't real?" Tricia replied teasingly, seemingly unaware of her brother's inner turmoil.

"Leave Ellen Ripley out of this," He weakly snapped back, yet there was no real energy behind the words.

They were now only a few meters away from his best friends in the whole world, and the Numbness crackled and fizzed as it carved out the bowl of his stomach, turning him hollow and aching. It hurt enough to cause him to suck in a sharp mouthful of the cold morning air, stopping dead in his tracks and repeating the exact same cowardice that he had committed the night before; he walked away.

_I can't do it, I can't face them._

Tricia made a noise as if she were about to call out to him, then seemed to think better of it as he caught her eye the split second before he turned away. He wasn't sure what she saw in his gaze, but it was enough to turn her expression of befuddled amusement into one of genuine concern, her brows coming together in a silent question he didn't answer.

The salt his neighbours had thrown down along the pavement to melt the snow crunched beneath his shoes as he forced himself to move slowly, figuring that as long as he stuck to a pace that was still in the realm of "walking" he couldn't possibly be running away. Craig Tucker didn't run away, didn't back down from a fight, and he most certainly didn't hide from his friends.

_I just feel like walking to school this morning. It's... healthier? Better for the environment?_

He passed his own house with an expression of glum wistfulness, yearning to be back in his bed with the coverlet drawn up to his chin instead of watching his own breath puff white into the cold morning air around him. Maybe if he could just manage to drift off to sleep again he'd have another chance at dreaming his space dream, without all the fear and being reverted back into a child with a cracked spaceman helmet.   
               It was more likely, he reckoned, that him returning to bed would just give his mom further reasons to be thinking that he was suffering from something more serious than just being foul tempered. Which would have been stupid considering just how fine he was sure he was.

The morning light was weak through the clouds above, making everything seem white and empty in the street ahead of him whilst he walked with his hands balled to fists in his jeans pockets. There was something peaceful about it, as if everything had been wiped clean with the snowfall last night, and he tried to let the sight flow through him in the vain hope that maybe it'd wash him clean too.

No such luck, and even worse, the ambience of the early morning quiet was interrupted as the sound of a growling, throaty engine approached from behind him. It was abrasive as it sifted through the air, growing in volume until an almost-familiar dented pickup truck sped past the solitary boy at speed, it's bonnet the faded colour of old washed jeans. The vision of it tickled something free in the back of Craig's skull as he began to slow his pace along the sidewalk, a trace-mark of recognition, yet he didn't immediately remember as to why.

**EEEEEEEEEEEK**

The truck's brakes squealed as it suddenly skidded to a stop less than ten yards away, and he felt himself tense with trepidation as he watched it cease all momentum. A part of him wanted to freeze too, to go still like a deer caught in headlights and pray the driver hadn't stopped for him, yet he was much too proud to allow his panic the satisfaction of having a hold over him.  
              Eyes narrowed, he continued to stride towards the pickup, keeping his gaze resolutely locked on some far-off point on the horizon. The key was to just not make eye-contact, and then if he did by accident he had to hold it until they looked away and he proved he was the one who would win if they decided to jump him.

He was still mentally coaching himself on his own game plan for dominance tactics when an all-too familiar voice called out from the road.

"Hey! Tucker! Did you miss the bus too?"

_Stan?_

A flare of anxiety rippled through him, eaten quickly by the Numbness as he turned to face the direction from where the noise had come from and found himself looking through the open window of the pickup truck to see none other than Stanley Marsh almost hanging out of it. The boy was smiling crookedly, one hand raised in a lazy wave that seemed out of place considering how things had last ended between them. There were purple bruises beneath each of his eyes, right by the bridge of his nose, which looked swollen.

"I have a first name, you know," He drawled in response, keeping his fists balled up in his pockets as he ignored the friendly gesture.

Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes before settling his dark gaze on the other boy once more.

"Don't be a dick,  _Craig_."

He said it as if it had become an old joke between the two of them, a laugh catching at the ends of the words halfway through. The corduroy-jacketed arm that was propped up on the open window then beckoned as he pulled his head back into the cab of the vehicle, as if sure Craig would follow his silent command. Craig narrowed his eyes and made no move until the self-assured boy finally cleared his throat and gave him a slightly exasperated look.

"Dude, I'm giving you a lift to school with me," Stan laughed, "Don't make it weird."

"It  _is_  weird," Craig muttered in reply, "Also, last time I checked it's  _illegal_  to drive under the influence."

"The only thing that's  _weird_  about this is that I actually  _am_  sober," the boy in the driver's seat sighed, holding the bridge of his nose briefly and wincing before snapping, "Are you coming or not?"

Perhaps it was the guilt of watching Stan flinch from the pain of a wound he had inflicted, or maybe it was because he really  _didn't_  want to walk the entire way to school, but either way Craig stepped off the kerb with hunched shoulders, dragging his feet around the truck to the passenger side and clambering in. Inside was a midden of accumulated refuse, the footwell overflowing with empty chip packets and discarded sweatshirts, yet as he sat back against the cracked vinyl seat and braced his feet on the glovebox for lack of space below, he couldn't help but smirk at the fact that despite how opposite they seemed to be, he and Stan Marsh had at least one thing in common: they were both terribly messy, in more ways than just one.

Beside him, Stan changed into first gear and revved the engine for seemingly no reason other than to make Craig grimace, laughing heartily as the pickup began it's steady pace down the street once more. The inside of the crew cab smelt of artificial pine thanks to a small tree-shaped hanger jostling beneath the rear-view mirror, directly above a bobbing-head dog with a handwritten label on it's collar reading "Sparky" that was nodding sagely from the dashboard. After studying these items for a few moments, Craig finally moved his attention to the other boy, and was tracing his profile when Stan turned his head to return the stare. Up close, he could see his swollen nose was slightly crooked after the fight, and felt guilt chew at his insides.

"Aren't you angry?" 

The question slipped from between his lips before he could stop it, frowning at himself as Stan quirked a single thick brow then flicked his gaze back to the road.

"Angry about what? How much of an asshole you are?" He asked, dark eyes widening as he had to brake for a cat that ran across the street ahead.

"No. About the fight. Your nose," Craig elaborated through gritted teeth, trying not to snap back about who it was that was the  _real_  asshole between them.

"Dude, as if. It's just a souvenir," Stan replied with a shrug, his voice light as he continued, "It just means that when I tell my grandkids not to pick fights with the roughest toughest boy in school, I'll be able to show it off as proof that Craig Tucker once knocked me out in a high school fight circle."

When he caught the doubtful expression still on his moody companion's face, Stan reached out with a laugh to tug playfully on the ear flap of Craig's navy hat, before focusing on the road once more. He seemed wholly unconcerned about the damage done to his face, seemed so genuine in his dismissive assessment of having a crooked nose for the rest of his life, that Craig couldn't help but wonder if  _Tweek_  would one day sit down with hisgrandchildren and warmly reminisce about the day he received his scar. He somehow doubted it.

"I guess at least your mom works at the rhinoplasty if you ever want to get it fixed," He conceded flatly, rewarded with another one of Stan's snorting bouts of laughter before he asked, "So how come you don't usually drive to school?"

The other boy's laugh faded, his expression contorting into one of discomfort as he replied, "Dude, as you said, it's illegal to drive under the influence. I may be killing my liver but I'm not going to endanger everyone else by getting behind the wheel if I've been drinking."

_I guess that makes sense; I mean, why else would I have found him sitting crying in the tray of his truck at Safeway instead of driving himself home?_

Craig nodded slowly but didn't ask why he wasn't drinking that day, watching with a fist of nerves in his stomach as South Park High loomed into view at the end of the road. Despite the two of them having missed the bus, due to the extended route it had to take they had beaten it to the front gates, and they both visibly exhaled in relief that no one would catch them getting out of the car together.

"What are you doing tonight?" Stan suddenly asked, pulling in to a free space on the kerb and cutting the engine.

The question entirely caught Craig by surprise, and he made a small choking sound before quickly managing to recover himself with a flatly spoken, "Nothing."

"What? Dude, it's Friday night, you should be doing something fun," The other boy protested, his black eyebrows drawn together in confusion, "Why don't you organise something with Token and Jimmy and stuff?"

_Hah, poor Clyde got demoted to being just "stuff"._

Despite the ripple of amusement that briefly passed through him at Stan's choice of wording, Craig found himself blindsided by the realisation that his friends most likely  _would_  be doing something that night, or at least over the weekend, and due to his prolonged absence from their presence he had no idea what it was. Unless they sent a message to invite him personally, he would be excluded, and for some reason the idea made him both nauseous and relieved at the same time.

"Eh, I'm not really on...  _comfortable_  terms with any of them at the moment," He found himself admitting to the other boy as they hopped out of the pickup, cringing with embarrassment when Stan gave him a look of unbridled pity from across the bonnet.

"... because Bebe tried to make-out with you in front of Clyde?"

Craig's eyes widened incredulously, his mouth opening slightly as if to reply, yet no noise managed to escape past the stranglehold that shock had on his throat. He knew Kenny had seen the incident thanks to their confrontation in the bathroom, but it hadn't yet crossed his mind that the disheveled kid would tell Stan.

"Dude, don't worry about it," Stan dismissed easily, shaking his head as he shouldered his schoolbag and explained, "Bebe doesn't know what she wants, she said as much to Kenny, but I think you can at least feel safe in the knowledge that your involvement is only to help her keep both him and Clyde on a tighter leash."

_I'm not so sure, but I'd much prefer **that** version of the world than the one where she actually does have feelings for me._

The two of them walked together across the road and through the tall school gates, side by side with their footprints making the first pair of tracks across the snowy lawn. The silence was oddly comfortable, each of them lost in thought until they reached the doors to the main building and paused at the threshold.

"Kyle is going to his little brother's Bar Mitzvah rehearsal after school, and Kenny is getting Bebe to pay for a dinner date to make up for yesterday, so I don't really have anything to do tonight either," Stan blurted suddenly, then flashed a broad grin and offered, "So we could hang out if you want."

Craig gave him a long, tired look, trying to gauge how serious he truly was before shaking his head. There was nothing he wanted to do after school except watch  _Star Trek_  and then go to bed early, having already picked out the next album from his dad's record collection that he wanted to listen to; "The Boatman's Call" by  _Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds_.

"I don't think we should be seen together," He coldly refused, crossing his arms in his lumpy sweater and feeling his jaw set at the amused look that crossed the other boy's face.

"Oh  _definitely_  not, we wouldn't want the students of South Park to start thinking we don't hate each other," was Stan's sarcastic response, then his self-assured smirk returned again as he continued, "I'm giving Kyle a lift home but I'll see you after."

"No you won't," Craig snapped, but the smirk did not falter as Stan pushed open the glass door and stepped inside, holding it open for him to follow before lifting his hand in a careless wave.

"You still live at 1010?" He asked, a twinkle flickering in the depths of his brown eyes as he looked back over his shoulder.

"Don't come to my house --"

"Cool, I'll pick you up later then," Stan interrupted, flashing another amused grin before leaving Craig standing irritated and alone in the hallway.

As he watched the boy's back recede into the distance, broad shoulders relaxed and upright unlike his own hunched ones, he couldn't help but for a moment feel envious of Stan's unshakeable confidence. It settled green and bitter in the pit of his stomach, burning dully there until the memory of his tears the night he'd found him at  _Safeway_  flickered through the dark of his mind.   
               Surely it wasn't confidence then, at least not the kind that Jimmy had perfected over the years, but instead something else entirely; a kind of defeated lack of care maybe, that gave off the impression of an ego where really there was nothing but resignation.

_Why? He has everything he wants... except Kyle._

It terrified Craig for a moment, watching the widely popular and celebrated school quarterback Stan Marsh walk away and realising that none of it mattered to him, that nothing mattered at all, because unless Kyle Broflovski loved him back then Stan didn't want the world. It made his pulse race, anxiety crawling cold up his throat as he envisioned the one thing worse than living with a bottomless hole through the centre of you; living with the silhouette of someone carved out of your heart and knowing that they would never step forward to fill it. To live forever wanting and wanting without any hope for reprieve.  
                Or maybe you were lucky, maybe sometimes people  _did_ find each other and fill those echoing spaces within themselves; with love and a two-storey home in a nowhere mountain town, with run-down cars and clocking on and off five days a week into a job neither of you enjoyed. Maybe you had children, a boy and a girl to complete the Nuclear Family set, just so you could have a captive audience for your cold silences, for your heated arguments. A drinking habit, a nicotine addiction, a Dr Jekyll and a Mr Hyde living under the one roof and the two of you got to pick which role you wanted to play each day whilst your children learnt to be angry, learnt to be cruel, until eventually someone left and it all came to nothing because the void that person once filled was bigger than ever before.

As far as Craig Tucker could see, when it came to love there were only these two options; emptiness now, or emptiness later.

_That's never going to be me. No one's ever gonna catch me and make me fall in love._

An ultimatum like no other, fortifying the walls he had briefly allowed to begin to crumble the past few days. It ached desperately within the frame of his body, so much that he was still frowning and staring off into space when the first of the students from the school bus began to crowd in through the doors behind him.

The noise of conversations both murmured and squealed in high-pitched excitement flooded the hallway, lockers opening on rusty hinges before banging shut once more. Girls giggling whilst packs of boys strode past them with puffed-out chests, whispering and blushing once they were gone. Boys high-fiving over cat-calls and friendly digs, groaning over forgotten homework and the gameplay on the latest Playstation console release. 

Leaning up against the wall by the large double glass doors, Craig watched it all with passive disinterest, waiting for his friends despite the knowledge that having to face them was going to be excruciatingly uncomfortable after yesterday. Yet, even having to field questions over why he had pushed Bebe, why he had ignored Clyde's calls, and where he had gone to when he got off the bus early after school without talking to them all seemed much simpler than being unable to come up with an adequate excuse as to why he wasn't available to hang out with Stan Marsh that afternoon.   
               As long as he got back on the good side of his friends, they would all surely invite him to whatever they were doing, and Craig wouldn't have to look his confusingly amicable rival in the face and tell him a blatant lie.

It was Token who appeared first, his teeth flashing starkly white in contrast to the dark tone of his skin as he laughed at something Jimmy had said, who was manoeuvring himself through the doors behind him. Last was Clyde, broad-faced and shivering from the cold, yet still smiling along brightly to whatever joke the three of them had shared. As his gaze traced over them, Craig found he suddenly couldn't bring himself to make his presence known, as if an invisible barrier separated them from where he stood alone. They were so shiny, so full of exuberant joy that the boy was sure it'd be a selfish act to call out to them and possibly tarnish all that goodness with his personal brand of misery. He didn't want to even deal with himself; why should he ask his friends to? Why should he pull them down into the mud with him when they were clearly so happy living above it, without his apathetic, pathetic presence?

_The big numb void inside me is so strong it even sucks the life out of everyone around me; if I really care about them I should just let them forget --_

"Craig!" Clyde shouted excitedly as he suddenly noticed him, reaching out to grab him by the wrist and pull him along as they passed.

"Hey man! You weren't on the bus, so we thought you might be sick," Token said, looking over his shoulder to make eye-contact with Craig as they all continued walking as a pack, "Did your mom give you a lift?"

Jolted from his self-loathing thoughts and struggling not to trip over as Clyde's grip on his arm dragged him so suddenly forwards, the boy let out a coughing laugh of disbelief. Looking between all of their friendly faces, he briefly felt an overwhelming sense of affection for the three of them before it was sucked quickly away and replaced with static. There was a Morse Code message in the white noise, something about them all secretly hating him, about how he was a parasite to their happiness, but he tried to tune it out as he swallowed nervously and replied.

"Uh, yeah... she started late today."

Token nodded, then the three of them returned to their conversation previous to Craig's interruption, which turned out to be a recount of something that had happened during one of their multiplayer skirmishes in  _Call of Duty_  the night before. It was mostly incomprehensible to Craig, but he was silently relieved that none of them seemed interested in the altercation between him and Bebe on the front lawn, and was therefore more than happy to be out of the loop.

When the bell went for the first class of the day, Clyde stayed with Jimmy by the lockers whilst Token and Craig went their separate ways, quickly lost from each other's sight. As soon as he knew he was no longer under threat of being scrutinised, Craig released a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, carefully manufacturing an expression of nonchalance he didn't truly feel as he made his way to the room in which he had his US History class.   
               Taking his usual seat towards the back, he kept his face impassive as Tweek came and dutifully sat at the spare desk beside him, watching out of the corner of his eye as the unmedicated boy trembled with anxiety. As usual, he was underdressed for the frigid day, wearing only another one of his poorly fastened button-down shirts and no jacket to protect himself from the elements. His hands were shaking so hard that the pens he tried to pull out of his pencil case clattered to the ground, and his twitching was nearly constant.

_Nice try Twitch, but you can't fool me into feeling sorry for you **this** time._

Resolutely ignoring Tweek's presence proved harder than he thought however, as the classes of the day dragged onwards with little to break the monotony save for the sporadic nervous tics and general hysteria of the blonde sitting next to him. From his distressed grumbling and flinching to the eye-catching vibration of his body, Craig was uncomfortably hyper-aware of his every movement to the point that he felt like a helpless planet circling the sun. No matter how hard he tried, he found his gaze sliding back to the other boy as if drawn by a magnetic force, allowing himself to watch him for the brief moment before the memories of the night previous would flicker through his head like the flashes of fireworks in the dark; Tweek running out of the cafe and barrelling warm against his side, nervously handing him a steaming cup, then his fingers dancing across piano keys and the way he'd bitten his lip until it had split open all red and raw.   
                Yet the sweetness gave way to the bitter all to soon, corroded away until he was left with only angry words in the street, a seat hidden behind a pot plant in the  _Tweak Bros_  cafe, and then the sadness that had passed across the beautiful angles of Tweek's face as he'd told Craig the one lie he couldn't swallow, that now burned as a lump in his throat he would never forgive him for.

_"You're far from nothing, Craig Tucker."_

A cruelty without equal, carved from a set of six words that he'd never manage to live up to. The thought of them made him flinch as they rose to the surface of thought, stinging alongside his embarrassed shame in having been stupid enough to tell Tweek about the numb feeling inside of him. In having been stupid enough to feel like maybe they couldn't have been almost friends as they'd sat there on that russet bedspread, reminiscing about a spaceman helmet that he hadn't realised he'd been missing. 

It didn't bear thinking about; too painful, too full of vulnerable regret. After a while he managed to stop his wandering eyes from tracing over Tweek's profile by turning his attention to his phone, surreptitiously watching the end of  _2001: A Space Odyssey_  with his earphones cord hidden down the front of his jumper. Yet even with the visual diversion from the other boy, his other senses seemed determined to conspire against him, and every time Craig inhaled he was distracted by the scent of fresh coffee from the thermos sitting on the adjacent desk filling his nostrils, insistently reminding him of Tweek's presence until he began to mouth-breathe in an effort to reduce his awareness of the smell, scowling mutinously as he did so. The few times when his panicked partner tried to speak to him were met with stony silence, and Tweek in turn would glare furiously and grind his teeth; the two of them at an impasse of stubborn wills.

By the time the last class of the day was over, Craig felt ready to punch his fist through the second story windowpane and jump out with frustration, shoving his pen and Calculus book into his bag with unnecessary force. The past hour had been torturous; Ms Ellen had called on him to solve a math problem off the board, before interrupting to announce he was incorrect before he had even gotten more than one third of the way through the equation. Even the thought of it was enough to make his jaw clench to the point of an ache blooming in the joint of the bone and his skull, closing his eyes briefly against the image of his classmates watching him the way birds watch insects in the grass; all their beady eyes glittering with predatory intent he could never hope to escape from the second they realised he wasn't as poisonous as he claimed to be.

Tweek packed up slowly beside him, ripping a page out from his notebook before slipping the book into his green bag. The sound caught Craig's attention, and he turned his head ever so slightly to look at the other boy as he went to pass him on his way out of the room, glaring when their eyes met.

"It was -- it was unfair what she did to you," Tweek spluttered, standing up awkwardly to catch at his sweater sleeve before he could walk past.

"Okay," Craig acknowledged flatly, yanking his arm away.

"I'm -- I'm sorry I offended you last night," Tweek continued, trembling as he folded the piece of paper he'd ripped out of his book in half and held it out in an offer that was ignored.

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's my cell number since I, ah well, I don't really use facebook and -- and we should be able to contact each other," the blonde boy explained in a nervous rush, flapping the piece of paper insistently until Craig finally snatched it from his hand.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to call if I ever need advice on which career options are unsuitable for unmotivated alleged 'dyslexics'," he sneered, his lip curling in pure disdain as he crumpled the piece of paper in his fist and stalked out of the room with it burning hot against the curve of his palm.

He walked so fast towards the school gates that other students had to dodge out of his way to avoid being shoulder barged, his face set in a mask of animosity so fearsome that no one dared remark upon his rudeness as he shoved his way through the crowd. His mind was devoid of any thought save for his desire to escape the school grounds, to escape Tweek and all his expectations that Craig had never once pretended he could live up to.   
                It was only once he was lining up for the bus with his friends that he remembered the note crumpled up in his sweaty fist, and he slowly unfurled his fingers with a scowl. For a moment he entertained the idea of hurling it into the snow-filled gutter without copying down the phone number apparently scrawled across it somewhere within the crinkled ball he had reduced it to, but managed to resist the urge. With a sigh he unfolded it bit by bit, smoothing out the wrinkles until he could read Tweek's cramped handwriting.   

Sure enough, there was a cellphone number scribbled down across the top of the note, but it was the message beneath that caught his attention, reading it with his lips moving silently to sound out the syllables.

_"A song that truly could have been written to describe you, Craig Tucker.   
The Boy With the Thorn in his Side - The Smiths_

_Tell me what you think of it, please."_

He read it once, twice, then with the pad of his thumb traced the letters of his name as Tweek had written it across the crumpled notepaper, a smile beginning to tease at the corners of his mouth. Folding it neatly and tucking it into his back pocket, he looked back up towards his friends and noticed Jimmy watching him curiously.

"Wh-what's that you've g-g-got there, Craig?"

The ghost of a smile didn't fade from his lips as they parted for his reply, rolling light and affectionate from his tongue.

"Just an apology letter from a kid I beat up once."

"R-really? You m-m-must have t-terrified him if he f-f-felt he had to write that," Jimmy scoffed, grinning approvingly at his friend's supposed levels of intimidation.

"Oh, for sure," Craig agreed, allowing the full spread of his smile to light up his face as he added more to himself than anyone else, "But I think we're putting it behind us now."

He truly believed the words, even as he realised Jimmy was no longer listening and his friends were talking about some sort of community event on a video game that was going to be happening over the entirety of the weekend. He held them close despite the knowledge that he had been right in his prediction to Stan that morning, and he would be spending the night alienated from his three best friends.

Being alone was fine; he was the boy with the thorn in his side, and he had his very own song to listen to after all.

 


	16. When the Cold Creeps in

_\- in which the nihilist needs the apathetic boy much more than the apathetic boy needs him-_

There was a vehicle parked outside of Craig's house as he and Clyde approached from down the street that afternoon, looking the exact dull blue of an old pair of faded jeans in what little sunlight was filtering through the clouds overhead. The sight of it made the boy simultaneously want to scowl and smirk, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep the latter at bay.

_This dude just doesn't know when to quit._

"What is Stan Marsh doing parked outside your house?" Clyde demanded as they stopped at the borderline of the two properties, still bitter after watching Bebe and Kenny amorously swapping spit on the bus ride home.

"I don't know."

Trying to look as if he truly didn't, the lanky boy distractedly waved goodbye to his friend as he wandered over and knocked on the car window. Inside he could see Stan snoozing against the headrest, and couldn't help but feel guilty as he watched him jolt awake at the disturbance.

"You've clearly gotten lost on the way home, Marsh. Your house is down the opposite end of the street," Craig drawled lazily, having to raise his voice so that he would be heard through the glass that separated them.

The other boy rolled his eyes as he leaned over to push open the passenger side door, his slightly gaunt face pulled into a stern expression.

"Take off your blackbelt in Being An Asshole and hop in," He instructed, entirely ignoring the flash of a middle finger he was treated to in return.

"I've actually got other things to be doing," Craig snapped irritably, his mind on the note he had received from Tweek and the song recommendation he had to give feedback on.

Not to mention the fact that getting into Stan's car would most certainly mean he'd miss that afternoon's _Star Trek_ episode.

"Like sitting alone at home and practicing your quickdraw, Sheriff?" The unfazed boy quipped back, gesturing to the knitted yellow star on the breast of Craig's sweater when he frowned in confusion.

Looking down at the lopsided symbol his mum had painstakingly knitted into the pattern of the garment, Craig couldn't help but laugh as he realised it looked exactly like the cliched star-shape sheriff badge they'd grown up seeing in cowboy films as children. The sound bubbled up his throat before he could stop it, and by the time his gaze returned to Stan he had already given in to that fact that he'd been won over.

" _No_ ," He replied brusquely, keeping his face entirely straight, "I've got some investigating to do; somebody's poisoned the waterhole."

Stan's brows drew together in the beginning's of a perplexed frown for a split second, then he snorted, dark eyes scrunching up with surprised delight.

"Was that a _Toy Story_ reference?"

Craig shrugged in faux-innocence, "I don't know."

"Yeah _sure_ , Sheriff Woody," Stan said sarcastically, turning his key in the ignition and putting on a Southern twang as he continued, "We better hurry out to the waterhole then, before them critters out there perish."

A part of Craig was still entirely unconvinced that spending the afternoon with his sworn rival would be a good use of his time, but there was something beneath Stan's unconcerned exterior that made him pause before his second refusal could be formed by his tongue. It was a flickering desperation that had been briefly visible in the waver of his voice, written out in the white-knuckled grip of his hand on the gear stick, as if the possibility that Craig might say "no" scared him more than he was willing to let on.

_Something is up with him today, and he's doing a poor job of hiding it._

A foreboding feeling prickled down his spine as he sighed and resignedly sat himself down in the passenger seat, dumping his schoolbag in the footwell and bracing his snow-wet shoes against the glovebox. Later that night, after all hell had broken loose, he would remember the discomfort of the sensation and wonder why he had ignored it, but at the time he merely shoved it aside dismissively.

"Where to then, Deputy?" He asked dryly, watching as Stan smirked and put the car into first gear.

"The closest thing South Park has to a watering hole, of course."

 

Stark's Pond was a flat disk of silver in the afternoon light, its surface completely frozen over now that Winter had truly settled in to South Park. When they had been children they had all skated there until the ice began to thaw in March, after which they would swim in it once the weather warmed enough that they'd no longer be in danger of hypothermia after being submerged in its murky depths.

Craig could remember watching from the pebbled shoreline as Clyde had called out from the water, challenging him to a competition to see who could dive down far enough to touch the bottom. He'd shrugged and agreed at the time, the two of them taking huge gulps of air into the tiny swells of their ribcages before sinking below the frigid skin of the water with their eyes shut tight to the darkness. They'd never managed to reach it until they were thirteen and almost too old for the game, after which they never attempted it again; the memory of his vulnerable hand landing amongst all the broken things in the black mud down there made him shudder even now.

Trying to shake off the recollection, Craig turned his attention to Stan's calloused fingers gripped around the gearstick, frowning as he watched him shift it into neutral and park at the edge of the track that led down to the lake.

"Isn't this where sixth-graders come to make-out?" He asked in a voice laced with suspicion, crossing his arms in blatant disapproval at the other boy's choice of location.

Stan snorted, shaking his head as he replied, "Gross. Good thing we're not sixth-graders."

"Yeah, but we're _Juniors_ ,' Craig complained, "What are _we_ going to be doing at Stark's Pond? _Ice-skating?_ "

He knew he was being needlessly antagonistic, but he couldn't seem to help himself as he tried to wrap his head around the strange series of events that had lead him to be sitting in Stan Marsh's car with him by the lakeside and watching as the boy flashed him a crooked smirk.

"That's _exactly_ what we're going to do, Tucker," Stan told him, his voice half dissolving into another of his snorting giggles that Craig was still entirely sure he should be embarrassed by.

"You can't be serious, man," He groaned.

"It'll be fun!" Stan assured him, clearly relishing in his horror as he offered teasingly, "You can hold my hand if you're scared of falling."

Craig gave him a withering look.

"Unless you're below the age of ten, there is nothing fun about ice-skating," He growled, mentally cursing himself for not staying at home to watch _Star Trek_ instead.

"Ice-skating is the funnest thing you can do without taking your clothes off," Stan insisted, unclipping his seat belt and pushing open the truck door.

"... without taking my clothes off?" Craig echoed, quirking a single brow.

"Well you can take your clothes off if you want dude, but mine are staying on," Stan replied breezily, grinning when he received a scowl in return.

With nothing else to do but meekly follow, Craig wrinkled his nose in an expression of sullen defeat as he removed his seat belt and hopped out of the passenger side to land on the churned up snow. Up ahead of where they'd parked, Stan was already sauntering down the short track that led to the shoreline, pausing briefly to look over his shoulder to check that Craig was coming before ducking past a fir and disappearing from sight.

_This'll be the part where I follow him down there and get ambushed by Kyle, Cartman and Kenny, who will have been lying in wait all this time._

Reaching up with cold hands, he rubbed briefly at his eyes in exhaustion and entertained the idea that perhaps should text someone to tell them where he was, just in case Stan Marsh really _was_ about to kill him. He didn't truly know what the other boy's increasingly confusing motives were after all, and surely it was naive to trust someone who he had always held in contempt for being a hypocritically self-righteous jerk?

_I don't trust the Stan Marsh who helped tie Butters to the flagpole and who mindlessly agrees with anything Kyle Broflovski says, but I don't think that person is truly him. There's more to him than just the bad things he'd done, just like there's more to Tweek than his twitch._

The realisation had him setting off after Stan with a face set in stony determination, all the opposing thoughts and feelings within the chaos of his mind reaching one single point of agreement; that if it were true that Stan was more than just the sum of his misdeeds, then maybe that meant Craig was too. He wasn't sure, but he was hopeful enough to try and believe it, if only for the afternoon.

The shore was covered in a thick blanket of snow when he arrived, stepping out past the fir trees and squinting against the glare off the ice as he looked out to where Stan was already shuffling across it. Despite the fact he was seemingly testing the surface to check that it was solid enough, there was an odd detachment to each of his movements, as if he wouldn't have minded if the ice beneath his feet suddenly betrayed him to the frigid water below.  
                 Watching him felt like watching a sleepwalker navigate through the world, trapped between the place of knowing and not knowing, of caring and not caring, and Craig felt a shudder pass down his spine at the sight of it.

"How are we going to do this without skates?" He called out, shoving his cold hands into his pockets and pausing at the edge of the shore.

Stan waved his hand dismissively, smiling as if he knew a wonderful secret that Craig was yet to find out.

"Skates? Where we're going, we don't need skates," He yelled back, then snickered as the boy on the shore grumbled disapprovingly.

"Was that a fucking _Back To The Future_ reference?"

"Maybe..."

"Marty McFly didn't bend the fabric of space and time so that you could use him to talk about _ice-skating_ ," Craig protested nasally, scowling when his complaint only managed to elicit a snorting laugh from his companion.

Slipping and skidding along the ice in his Converse shoes, Stan gave up before he'd even reached halfway across the lake and instead made his way back over to the shoreline to join Craig on the snow, instructing him to try and find a piece of thick branch or another kind of debris from around the base of the fir trees nearby. Despite the perplexed frown that twisted his features, Craig complied, digging around in a privet bush until he found a broken piece of decking from the small wooden jetty that sat dilapidated in its icy moorings. Holding the board aloft, he returned to where Stan was kicking at the snow near the base of a tree, slowly but surely uncovering a metal lid from one of the public trash cans that had been buried there.

"Me and Kyle got this idea a few years ago when we grew out of our old skates," the boy explained, pulling the object free and dusting it off as he continued, "We haven't come here this winter yet though, otherwise we'd have already scoured the place for the perfect surfboards."

Craig blinked confusedly, still holding on the piece of decking as he repeated dumbly, "Surfboards...?"

"Yeah, but for skimming across the ice on," Stan clarified, his tone one completely free of concern as he tucked the bin lid under his arm and began making his way along the shore to where the jetty stuck out into the frozen surface.

_He's insane._

In a daze, Craig followed the other boy up and onto the wooden boardwalk, walking side by side to the very end of it. He still hadn't quite managed to suspend disbelief of the fact that the supposedly infinitely cool Stan Marsh still liked to hang out at Stark's Pond in his free time, and his brain was therefore finding the idea that the boy also liked to make up nonsensical ice-skating games with his best friend almost too bizarre to comprehend.

"Dude... no offence but, you're so weird," He blurted unthinkingly, then mentally cursed his stupidity as he glanced over guiltily towards him.

"Thanks, so are you," Stan laughed, shoving Craig's shoulder playfully as if he were going to knock him off the end of the wharf, "Now get ready to drop your ice-skate board over the edge."

The boy did as he was told, stooping to drop the plank on the icy surface a meter below and then straightening back up with a sigh.

"What now?"

"Now, we do a run up from the end of the jetty," Stan instructed, grinning wide, "Then jump on the board and use the momentum to try to surf along the ice without falling off for as long as we can."

Craig's face warped into it's most flatly skeptical self as he tried to figure out whether or not Stan was joking, openly glaring for a few seconds before intoning flatly, "That sounds ridiculously dangerous."

"Nah, no way, it's fun," Stan replied cheerily, "Ask yourself Craig, what would Brian Boitano do?"

"What would _who_ do?"

"Brian Boitano."

"The... the olympic figure skater?" He asked bemusedly, utterly stupefied by the choice in reference.

"Exactly.

Without elaborating any further, Stan dropped his trashcan lid onto the ice and took several paces backward. His lithe body dipped as he moved into a slight crouch, looking like a runner posed ready to race, albeit one wearing jeans and a corduroy jacket instead of lycra. The red pompom atop his hat bobbled as he cocked his head, waiting for the motionless boy to join him.

"Is the ice even thick enough for us to be jumping onto it like this?" Craig demanded, his arms crossed disapprovingly.

"Who cares?" Stan muttered, then coughed and spoke louder, "I checked it, dude, it's fine."

_"Who cares"?? He's actually trying to fucking kill me... or himself._

A ripple of concern rolled through his body at the thought. Entirely unconvinced of anything being "fine", Craig stepped towards the other boy with his hands raised, palms facing out as if to placate a wild animal.

"Hey, man --"

"I was kidding! Don't give me that worried face, otherwise I might as well have hung out with _Wendy_ ," Stan laughed mirthlessly, rolling his eyes as he straightened up from his racer's crouch.

"Oh, I'm sure if Wendy were here she'd be too busy attacking me to give you any worried looks," Craig drawled flatly, the pain of her hand slapping across his cheek still fresh in his mind.

The two of them shared a look of mutual sheepishness, one boy blocking the end of the jetty whilst the other faced him off from the shore, and a hushed disquiet began to form a thick cloud in the air. Not for the first time in his life, Craig found himself wishing he knew the right words to say, searching for them on hands and knees through the darkness within him. He wanted them to be perfect, the way someone like Tweek might say them; full of compassion and spoken with an unreserved gentleness that seemed at odds with the raspiness of his voice. Yet Craig's voice was nasal as opposed to raspy, and he'd never learnt how to be gentle, much less openly compassionate, so he stayed silent instead of asking Stan Marsh the question that burned as bright as a neon light at the back of his throat.

_Do you want to die, Stan?_

It was a question he should have been asking himself.

"Okay, let's just play hockey instead of ice-surfing," Stan finally relented, breaking the tense quiet mere seconds before Craig did, "Happy now?"

"I'm never happy," Craig responded in a monotone, ignoring the small voice inside his head that accused him of lying as he joined the other boy at the shoreline.

Each of them grabbed a long branch from one of the fir trees, stripping the needle-like leaves from one end of until they began to resemble brooms. Then, after digging around in the snow to find the flattest stone they could, the two of them stepped out onto the ice and began to gracelessly attempt to skate across it in their shoes.

"You can have the wharf support columns as your goal, and mine can be between those two rocks over there," Stan announced, gesturing to the opposing sides of Stark's pond with his primitive hockey stick, then he tossed the stone they'd collected up in the air and tried to hit it like a tennis player making a serve. 

All he managed to do was miss terribly, the needles still attached to the end of the branch whistling through the air as the rock fell and skittered a few yards away.

"Outstanding," Craig drawled, smirking with amusement when he was shot a look of mock-outrage in response.

"We'll see who's laughing when I win, Tucker!"

Slipping and sliding with every step, Stan chased after the stone and scooped it towards himself with his branch, pushing it along in front of him as he haphazardly skated towards where Craig was positioning himself in front of his goal. It made a light scraping sound as it moved, growing steadily louder when Stan suddenly hit it hard towards the space between the two wooden stilts that supported the jetty.

"He shoots, he scores!" The boy yelled triumphantly, watching the stone glide towards its intended target.

Craig grinned like an animal as he dived for the makeshift puck, flinging it back towards Stan with the slamming force of his branch. For a moment it gained air, soaring past the other boy before landing in a clattering tumble and skidding across the ice to the very centre of the pond.

"Nice try, Marsh," He gloated, twirling his tree branch through the air victoriously as Stan poked his tongue out at him.

"Lucky save."

Using his stick like a paddle, Stan propelled himself along the ice towards the stone puck, his legs spread comically to try and balance. He moved like he knew it'd make Craig laugh, even if the joke was on him, and as Craig snickered and tried to cover his teeth with his hand he felt entirely happy for a short few moments.

**CRRRREAK**

A noise, reverberating out across the surface of the pond, and the two of them barely had time to shoot each other a confused glance before there was second sound, one which chilled them to the core.

**CRACK.**

Every kid that lived in their mountain town knew what to do when they heard ice breaking beneath them; they were taught at school and reminded by overbearing parents, had it repeated until it was permanently carved into their minds. You had to lie yourself flat immediately, then roll sideways to safety, otherwise the distribution of your weight might shatter the surface completely.

Otherwise, you might go under.

The two of them knew it, panic sucking the moisture from Craig's mouth as he stared out across at Stan, going motionless even as every cell in his body screamed to run. He waited for the other boy to begin to lower himself down onto his stomach, yet no such movement ever came; instead Stan just stood there with his hands in a white-knuckled grip around the tree branch he'd been using as a hockey stick, his dark brown gaze locking with Craig's blue one. His lips parted, as if he might say something, yet the only sound that came from between his them was a miserable laugh so unlike his usual snorting giggle that Craig couldn't quite believe the noise was coming from Stan's mouth at all.

"God, Tucker, don't look so --"

He never finished the sentence, the last words swallowed by the involuntary gasp that rushed out of him as the ice split apart in a series of sharp cracking sounds. Craig felt his heart slam itself raw and bruising against the unyielding wall of his sternum whilst he watched in helpless horror as Stan dropped like a stone through the frozen shrapnel, hearing his own shout of fear explode from his chest as the dark water closed over the red pompom atop his knitted hat.

"STAN!"

Moving forward in a slippery stumble across the stretch of intact ice between them, it took all of Craig's self control to slow down as he reached the broken patch at the lake's centre. The blood was roaring in his ears, his pulse reaching a distressed staccato that almost kept pace with his quick and shallow breathing as he searched the floating chunks of ice for any sign of the boy beneath.

_He's going to drown, he's going to fucking drown and it's all my fault and **no one knows we're here -**_

A thrashing arm broke the surface of the water, scrabbling for a grip on the edge of the ice hole yet only managing to catch on the broken pieces around it. A head then followed, crowned in black hair that had become wetly matted, with his mouth open and gaping. Stan's eyes were wide, the brown iris swallowed almost entirely by the dark of his pupil as he briefly found Craig's face amidst the the frost of his own breath and the shards of ice floating all around him.

"F-fuck! It's --"

His head dipped beneath the water then reappeared, choking and spluttering.

"-- f-f-freezing."

Craig lowered himself onto his stomach and pulled himself across the sopping wet surface of the ice towards the hole, his jaw clenched against the rolling nausea of his panic. He could hear the sound of the cracks spreading out from where Stan thrashed to try and keep his head above water, his fingers purpling with the cold as he dug them into the slippery edge of the ice-break.

_It might crack beneath me too if I move any closer... he has to pull himself out._

The raggedness of his own hyperventilating breaths were awfully loud in the quiet as Craig halted his movement across the ice, swallowing and hearing the click of his tongue against the roof of his parched mouth. Across from him, just a meter away yet frustratingly out of reach, Stan shivered uncontrollably as he tried to heave himself from the hole only to slip and sink back down into the chilling murk of the lake, leaning his head against his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"I c-can't do it," He said with chattering teeth, "M-my arms are t-t-too c-cold t-to m-move."

"Try again," Craig commanded, shaking his head vigorously at the idea of giving up.

Stan's face was leeched of all colour as he trembled, nodding ever so slightly as he began to drag his waterlogged body over to the edge of the ice once more, stretching his arms up across the wetly disintegrating surface of it. His nails smeared scarlet as they ripped themselves bloody to try and find purchase, and Craig winced at the shocked agony in Stan's expression, inching forward towards the freezing boy in the hope he might be able to grab a hold of him.

**CRACK.**

The ice beneath Stan's body gave way, too worn down to hold his weight after all the churning of the water against it, and with another gasp of shock he collapsed back into the darkness of Stark's Pond.

"NO!" Craig cried out, his vision blurring as panic took a hold of his body, begging the question of fight or flight and answering without his permission.

His arms instinctively flashed out to the sides, pushing at the ice to send himself sliding away from newly broken pieces that were joining Stan in the expanding hole. The cowardice of the movement sickened him, and he could taste the salt of his own frustration welling at the back of his throat as he watched Stan reemerge from beneath the surface, coughing violently and grabbing once more for the edge.

"I can't reach you," Craig told him in wretched despair, furious with his own inability to help, "You have to try again, and I'll grab you okay?"

He stretched out his hand, pale and perpetually bruised at the knuckles, laying it palm up against the wet ice between them like a promise. The cold seeped into his skin, his bones, froze the very marrow of him until all he knew was a shiver, but he continued to strain the limb towards Stan with all his might focused into the reach of every fingertip.

"It doesn't matter... it doesn't matter at all," the slowly freezing boy was murmuring, his eyes closed and his face pale.

"Take my hand!" Craig snapped, hearing his own voice shrill and panicked in his ears, "Take my hand, Stan."

It must have been the way he said his name, the sound cracking as it came up through his throat and between clenched teeth, for no sooner had the word left his mouth than Stan seemed to reawaken. Shivering, lips turning blue, his gaze locked with Craig's and he reached for him as if he were a lifeline instead of a scared boy constantly pretending he were brave.

_Please oh please oh please -_

The fingers of his hand touched to Craig's, as cold as if he were dead, and the boy curled them into the vice of his grip, feeling the bloodied jagged ends of his nails press hard against his skin as he pulled. The joints made a popping sound, and Stan hissed in pain, but the vicious tug had dragged him close enough for the two of them to grab each other's wrists to try again.  
              Pushing himself backwards from the broken ice with one arm and hauling Stan from the water with the other, the boy gritted his teeth against the burn in his muscles, feeling the stinging scrape of the cold surface along his bare flesh as his sweater began to ride up with the movement. The process was agonisingly slow, made worse by the muted crackling sounds emitted every now and then from the ice as they shifted their combined weight across it.

When they were more than several yards away from the hole they finally stood, shuffling carefully back to the shoreline as fast as they could manage. It was only once they set foot back on the snow that Stan let out a choking sob, sinking to his knees with his head cradled in the shivering blue of his hands. His winter hat had been lost to the lake, and without it the water in his hair had begun to turn icy along the thick locks.

"Come on dude," Craig coaxed gently, stooping to help him back to his feet, "I fucking hope the radiator works in your car."

It seemed like some kind of divine miracle that the pickup truck's key had been safely buttoned away in Stan's jacket pocket during his dip in Stark's Pond, and the boy shakily handed it over when his hands proved too jittery to be of any use unlocking the driver's side door. It was icy against Craig's palm when he twisted in in the lock, hearing the click of the internal mechanisms ring loudly out into the silence between them.

Neither spoke as they got into the car, Stan turning on the ignition whilst Craig manoeuvred all the radiator outlets to be blowing heat towards the sopping wet boy. He himself was shivering as he pulled his soaked sweater off over his head, completely devoid of concern when his hat was pulled off along with it, and placed his frozen fingers over the nearest heater in an effort to bring some sort of sensation back into them.

"Why did you want to hang out with me so badly this afternoon?" He heard himself ask quietly, the words rasping out past the sudden lump in his throat.

"I needed a distraction... a reason not to just start drinking by myself."

_Why though? Why... oh who fucking cares anymore. We're alive. That's all that matters._

"Well," Craig sighed, finally turning to look across at the boy beside him, "I feel we could both do with a stiff drink now."

They looked at each other in shell-shocked silence for a moment, each of them too exhausted to know what to say. Wishing Tweek were there to fill the quiet with his fretful fussing and warm sentimentality, Craig opted to be practical since he couldn't think of anything to say that might express just how scared he'd been when the ice cracked. Reaching for a discarded sweatshirt at his feet, he picked it up and held it out for the other boy, averting his gaze as he exchanged the soaking clothes he'd been wearing for the dry garment. When he looked back over, the black-haired boy was sitting in only his wet red boxers and the stained pullover, hugging his knees to his chest and staring into space as if rewatching the horrific event on some far-off movie screen.

A ragged breath, a shiver passing down the pale of his damp flesh, then their gazes locked and they were staring at each other like if they looked away for even a second they might both be lost.

"You saved my life," Stan whispered, eyes big and dark in the pallid oval of his face.

"Don't worry about it," Craig dismissed in a murmur, flicking his gaze to his blue-tinged hands on the air-vents instead of the terror in his friend's face, "I'm sure you can return the favour one day."

He said the words jokingly, trying his best to smile weakly despite the memory that had etched itself across the walls of his mind; the terrible vision of Stan out there alone in the centre of the lake as the ice had begun to crack, and the sound of his hollow desperate laugh echoing out towards the gold-lit sky.

 

Stan had decided on the way home that he was in desperate need of a slushy from the _7/11_ out by the edge of town. Craig tried to dissuade him on the grounds that having nearly frozen to death in Stark's Pond should warrant getting a hot beverage as opposed to an iced one, but the boy was adamant as he turned into the gas station and parked, spending a few minutes trying to yank his wet jeans back on before jogging inside.  
              When he returned he was shivering again and carrying two brightly hued drinks, handing over the blue one whilst keeping the red for himself. The azure coloured ice contained within the plastic cup was sickly sweet when Craig took a tentative sip through his straw, and he grimaced and shoved it into the cup holder in the centre console, trying not to think about the sensation of the cold trailing down to his stomach.

"Are you okay?" Stan asked quietly, his straw in his mouth as he used one hand to steer the pickup back onto the road.

The question caught Craig off guard, slamming into him somewhere along his sternum and leaving him having to swallow painfully against the sudden lump blocking up his throat.

_No._

"Yeah, I'm alright," He replied aloud, blinking back the prickle of tears threatening to well up in his eyes, "I think the really question is, are _you_ okay?

"I... don't know anymore," Stan murmured, eyes on the road instead of the boy that watched him, "I thought I was fine, you know? Like not _good_ , but still okay... but then when I first heard the ice cracking, it made me feel so relieved, man, _so relieved_ , as if I was getting subbed off in a football match my team had been losing since kickoff."

"So you were... happy? That you might have died?" Craig questioned slowly, a prickle of trepidation itching its way along the back of his neck with the fear that a part of him would have felt the same as Stan did.

"Not happy, just relieved. Like, 'oh thank god, I didn't know if I could do this any longer'," the other boy clarified, his tongue and teeth red from the slushy as he spoke.

Craig looked at him for a moment, tracing the silhouette of where his black hair curled at the nape of his neck, before turning his attention to the view from the windscreen of the streets rushing towards them as Stan drove them home.

"You know, I think I can say without a doubt that I understand how you felt, Stan," He finally murmured into the hush, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead as his companion replied.

"Yeah, I kinda knew you would, Craig."

They listened to the radio on the way back to the beige house at 1010, the heater running at its maximum power and Stan tapping his fingers on the rhythm on the steering wheel. They were both too wholeheartedly exhausted for conversation, but the lack of it was comfortable, each of them lost to their own thoughts. It was only when they pulled up outside Craig's house and cut the engine that Stan finally spoke again, his tone light and laughing.

"I guess now you can go tell Clyde what a complete mess I am," He joked weakly, a wavering edge of genuine worry audible beneath the bravado.

"Only if you promise to tell Kyle the same thing about me," Craig scoffed, rolling his eyes, "He's probably home by now."

There was a pause, then the other boy coughed and cleared his throat before replying, "Oh, I'm sure he's not going to be home until much later."

"Fuck, how long does a Bar Mitzvah rehearsal go for?"

Stan shifted in his seat, swirling his straw through the remnants of his slushy and studying the flakes of red ice as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. After a few seconds of prickling silence, he finally murmured his reply into the hush of the pickup's cab, so quietly Craig had to strain to hear it.

"It only went until five."

"Then why...?" Craig began to ask, trailing off as he caught sight of the misery written openly across the other boy's face.

"He went to hang out with Heidi afterwards," explained Stan in a ragged sigh, tipping the rest of the slushy into his mouth and carelessly tossing the empty cup into the backseat in a movement seemingly designed to try and convince the both of them that he was untroubled by it all.

Craig found himself wishing it were true as he watched him turn the key in the ignition, the pickup spluttering to life around them with a throaty growl. Dusk was settling in outside the windows, the final day in what felt like the longest week of his short life drawing to a close alongside his strange afternoon with Stan Marsh. Grabbing his backpack from the messy footwell, he was surprised to realise he had enjoyed it up until the point the ice had broken, against all odds and expectations. He wanted to say so, to admit it unabashedly into the cozy capsule they had created for themselves in the chaos of Stan's car, but he couldn't find the right words as he looked across at the other boy and met his dark gaze.

"Then that's his loss," He finally managed to mumble, "Heidi has about as much personality as a wet sock. You're much more fun to be around, dude."

Stan laughed in a surprised snort, then shook his head in bitter disagreement.

"Heidi is nice! Apparently she's very optimistic, as well as having the sort of constitution that doesn't result in involving people in near-death experiences."

" _'Nice'_ is a good description for a lampshade, not a person," Craig refuted, rolling his eyes as he opened the truck door and hopped out, looking back at the boy in the driver's seat to add, "And for what it's worth, I think Kyle is crazy for not choosing you, near-death experience or not."

No sooner were the words out than he was wishing them back, feeling panic lurch up through his stomach and into his chest as he realised how odd the sentiment sounded as it fell off his tongue. For a moment he was terrified, bristling with horror at his own poor choice of phrasing and mentally backtracking a mile a minute, yet Stan seemed to barely even register that Craig had spoken.

"It's going to snow tonight," was all he said, looking up at the green tint of the clouds with eyes too shiny to be dry, "Keep yourself warm, Tucker."

Then he was moving the stick into first gear and Craig was letting the door slam closed, stepping back from the vehicle as it pulled away from the kerb in a cloud of exhaust fumes that lingered in the air much longer than it took for the truck to crest the hill and disappear from sight.

 


	17. To Share a Sweater

_\- in which Craig finds two things that were lost while busy searching for himself -_

Standing at the front step, the boy's hand trembled on the cold steel of the doorknob long before he found the courage necessary to twist it open. Flinching at the quiet click of the internal latch, he held his breath whilst everything washed over him at once, flashing like film projected across the dark of the backs of his eyelids; Bebe moving forward to kiss him; Stan crumpling half-drowned at the edge of Stark's Pond and letting out a broken sob; his father silently packing his things into the back of a U-Haul truck as the rest of them watched knowing when he finally left he wouldn't be looking back.

Then his own voice, like a whisper through the chaos of it all.

_It's okay, it's okay now._

The first thing he did as he entered the house was walk over to where Tricia lay spread out over the couch watching television, wordlessly bending down to wrap her in a tight embrace. The girl made a small scoffing sound, pushing him off with an irritable growl that sounded something like " _getoffmeyoufreak_ ", yet when he pulled away he saw she was smiling.

"You missed _Star Trek_ ," she informed him, her gaze travelling upwards from his blank face to the mess of black hair atop his head before she added, "Where's your dopey hat, _Astro Boy_?"

Normally the teasing nickname would have made him scowl, but Craig only shrugged and gestured to his school bag, keeping his eyes locked on hers. They were the exact same light shade of blue as his mom's, only wider and set into skin far less lined with age, and he felt his chest constrict at the thought that if things had gone differently that afternoon he might have never looked into them again.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, but found the words wouldn't come as he instead blinked rapidly to clear the tears beginning to waver across his vision and mumbled, "Which episode was it?"

"It was  _'Amok Time'_ , as in the super gay one where Kirk and Spock have their horny fight-to-the-death on Vulcan," Tricia teasingly informed him, then quirked a brow when he didn't react and added, "You know, I think Mom might be right about the two of them being in love."

Hearing her as if from underwater, Craig nodded slowly without any of his usual denials, backing away from the couch and continuing through to the kitchen where he could hear his mom humming to herself. Loitering in the doorway, he watched her rummage in the refrigerator for a few silent moments before he cleared his throat to make his presence known.

"Hi mom."

His voice cracked audibly on the words, and he normally would have cringed with embarrassment at having made a sound so vulnerable, but this time didn't; too exhausted to care anymore about whether or not he seemed weak. Before he could think about the action too much, he crossed the few steps between them and hugged her from the side, craning his neck to bury his face in her shoulder. At the sudden embrace, his mom looked towards him in surprise, smiling warmly as she squeezed one arm around him in return.

"Well hello there," She cooed, reaching out to pinch his cheek with her free hand, "You're home very late."

Craig swallowed thickly, then mumbled, "I was hanging out with a... a friend."

"Oh, that lovely young man who was over the other night?" His mom asked brightly, turning her attention back to the fridge as she spoke, "He had a funny name... sort of malnourished-looking..."

"Tweek?? He's not my friend," The boy blurted out defensively, stepping back from their hug hurriedly and earning himself a look of bemusement from his mother, one thin brow arching upwards in wordless skepticism.

"Oh, is that so? Well what a shame," was all she said however, her tone airy, "We're having leftovers tonight by the way, Munchkin, sound good to you?'

Craig nodded, feeling his hands clench to fists at his sides as he tried to calm his thudding heart. It was as if the mere mention of the blonde boy was enough to make the blood rush faster through his body, up to his cheeks and singing in his eardrums; _you're alive you're alive you're alive._

After the events of that afternoon, the feeling was just a little too overwhelming to handle.

Making his way up to his bedroom, the boy looked around the chaotic space for a moment of sudden discontent, as if suddenly seeing the state of disarray for the first time. Despite the fact he'd already taken a large armful of dirty laundry down to the basement that morning, it had only made the lack of visible floorspace more obvious now that there was an island-like piece of bare carpet in the centre of the room. Dazedly making a mental note to not let things get so out of hand next time, he dumped his schoolbag by the door and began picking up the dirty clothes, bundling together as many as he could in the circle of his arms before hauling them down the stairs. Tricia gave him a look of genuine shock when he staggered past her to the basement door, unused to seeing him making any effort to help out with the washing, and he mourned his lack of free hands to be able to flip her off in response.

Manoeuvring down the stairs to the washing machine and dryer, he dumped the clothes in front of them in a large heap, one that grew exponentially each trip he made back up to his room to grab more. Setting down the final pile, he pulled off his own damp clothes and added them into the washing machine alongside his wet sweater, shivering in only his underwear as he shoved more garments inside and set it off.

"Mom! Craig is walking around naked!" His sister protested jokingly when he re-emerged from the basement, covering her eyes with one hand in mock horror.

"I'm wearing boxers, you pest!" He snapped, his usual short temper emerging past the cloud of post-trauma shock that had been controlling him as he went jogging past and up the stairs to the bathroom.

He didn't see it, but both Tricia and his worried mother listening in from the kitchen smiled in relief to hear something normal come out of his mouth for the first time since he arrived home.

Locking himself in the bathroom, he twisted on the taps for the shower until the water that jetted from them was coming out in a scalding hot stream, hopping foot to foot on the cold of the floor. Ditching his underwear on the tiles, the goosebumps prickling up across his skin quickly faded as he stepped beneath the heavily falling water, closing his eyes and letting it beat itself against his skull.

_Stan was beneath the ice, he was beneath the ice and I pulled him out -_

The boy shivered and hugged himself, smoothing his hands over his own ribs and then up to his shoulders, his neck, his face, pressing his knuckles against his eyelids until he saw stars.

_It's okay. It's okay. Stop thinking about it._

Grabbing the flannel cloth that was hanging up on the soap dish, he scrubbed it along his skin until he was sure the murky water from Stark's Pond had been eradicated from every inch of him, watching the bubbled lather slide down his legs and then swirl into the drain at his feet. Next was his hair, washed soft with foam and the mussing movement of his fingers through the dark locks until the water ran clear. Restlessness itched through him, his mind returning again and again to the lake no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was clean from its touch.  
             Eventually giving up and getting out, he ignored his pinkly flushed body in the mirror and wrapped a towel around his shoulders like a child to scuttle back to his room, leaving wet footprints along the hall carpet.

The interior of his bedroom looked strange with the floor devoid of it's usual blanket of laundry, the space beneath his bed finally visible enough that he could see an assortment of discarded objects beneath it that he would need to clear out at some point. After all, who knew what could have been lost under there; one sock from every pair, or maybe permission slips for school excursions and report cards he'd purposefully never handed over to his mom. Perhaps if he looked hard enough he could even find his sense of happiness down there, alongside the star that had disappeared from his dreams.

_My dream... the Spaceman helmet._

Ditching the genuinely productive idea of pulling out all the things under his bed and sorting through them, he instead dropped the damp towel at his feet and quickly dressed in the only items of clothing that had remained ignored in his drawers during the past few months of using his floor as a wardrobe. They were an amalgamation of some ragged sweatpants that no longer fit him, coming down to quite a few inches above his ankle, as well as a faded hoodie of his dad's he had found in the laundry the week after he'd left, hiding it in his room without truly knowing why he wanted it kept.  
              Feeling it unwashed against his clean skin, with the faint smell of his father ghosting from it as he pulled it over his head, sent a shudder down his spine. With a glance to the mirror, he was relieved at least to have not yet grown into it, the material swamping him despite his tall, lean frame.

There was still time; he had not yet become Thomas Tucker.

Looking like he had been dressed in hand-me-downs from the McCormick residence, he spent the rest of the night searching the house for the missing childhood relic, stopping only to join his mom and sister for dinner. Both their gazes lingered on the hooded sweatshirt he wore but said nothing, instead asking him about his day and pretending to believe him when he swore nothing had happened that afternoon to have put him in such a strange mood. _Everything_ had happened, but he didn't know how to say it in a way that wouldn't result in questions being asked about him and Stan that he couldn't answer. They shared worried looks when he suddenly declared he was sorry for always being so negative and then left the table early before they could possibly formulate a reply; it didn't take a mind-reader to see he was shaken.

In his search for the helmet he rifled through linen closets and storage cupboards, checked behind long-untouched boxes in the basement and along every shadowy shelf down there in the dim space. It was late by the time he ended up in his father's study, defeatedly glancing in the desk drawers and then turning his attention to the record player. A layer of dust was beginning to accumulate on the surface of the glass lid, and he absentmindedly drew a star in it with the tip of his index finger, trying to wrack his brains for another place it could possibly have been stored.  
              He supposed in the end, only the garage was left, which would have to wait until morning. It was far too late at night to go outside and start rooting around in the freezing cold of that echoing space, and besides, he had disturbed his family enough for one day without worrying them further.

With a reverence rarely seen from the boy, he reached into the LPs lined up along the shelves beneath the record player, gliding his fingertips lovingly along their spines before pulling out the one he had planned to listen to next. The plastic protection sleeve it was contained in was pockmarked and rough with age beneath his palms as he held it up, studying the heavy-browed yet handsome man whose black and white face graced the album cover and willing himself to find enough courage to put it on the turntable.

_Come on, what are you so afraid of?_

The sight of a boy sinking beneath black water, gasping out for help that wasn't coming. A man formed from ice, without compassion, without remorse, holding all his emotions in a fist he used to strike out towards the ones he should have been loving. The idea that perhaps he was slowly becoming both, as if some sort of evil had been handed down to him in the form of all this sadness he didn't know what to do with. As if perhaps, just like Stan Marsh, he was drowning in the frozen lake but for him no one was coming to help pull him out.

Craig placed the record back, tiptoeing back to his bedroom and crawling beneath the covers. They felt fresh against his skin, almost to the point of crackling when he spread his limbs out through them, and his heart gave out a small hiccup of adoration as he realised his mom must have changed the bedspread for him while he was out that afternoon. Headphones on and the first track of the newly selected album beginning to play its melancholy piano chords, the boy curled up facing the un-curtained window to watch the snow Stan had predicted begin to float down through the darkness.

_"I don't believe in an interventionist God,_  
_But I know, darling, that you do,_  
_But if I did I would kneel down and ask him_  
_Not to intervene when it came to you._

_Not to touch a hair on your head,_  
_To leave you as you are,_  
_And if He felt He had to direct you_  
_Then direct you into my arms."_

As he listened he found himself wondering how it would feel to have such a sentiment sung for you, all brave and bold with no holds barred, and without seeking the golden boy out he nevertheless emerged into his thoughts. In his mind's eye he could see Tweek at the piano in his bedroom, singing like he was baring his heart, and he idly mused over how _Into My Arms_ would sound if Tweek were to play it.

_"And I don't believe in the existence of angels,_  
_But looking at you I wonder if that's true,_  
_But if I did I would summon them together_  
_And ask them to watch over you."_

A blush spread along the tops of his cheeks as he imagined those words in Tweek's sweetly rasping voice, shoving his face into the pillow and deciding begrudgingly that whichever girl got to have Tweek Tweak serenade them with a _Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds_ song would be incredibly lucky indeed. Probably too lucky. He definitely hated her.

_"But I believe in Love_  
_And I know that you do too,_  
_And I believe in some kind of path_  
_That we can walk down, me and you."_

The warmth in his cheeks remained as he buried his face further into the pillow, focusing on the sound of the musician's voice until he was finally lulled into sleep.  
  


The garage smelt of dust and diesel when he opened the side door into it the next morning, fumbling for the light switch along the wall and watching the fluorescent bulb above flicker into life. His mom's station wagon took up most of the space, and he had to sidle around it to access the shelves set against the back wall.

There were multiple crusty tins of paint, their lids not quite sealed back on and their insides surely dried out after all the years it had been since anyone had repainted any of the rooms in the Tucker house. Behind these stood a few bottles of bourbon his dad must have hidden and forgotten about on some drunken night now long past, back when Laura Tucker used to pour his alcohol down the sink if she found it. Craig picked one up and inspected it, watching the tawny liquid swirl behind the glass as he rolled it in his palm and tried his best not to think there was something beautiful about it; he was well aware it was almost the exact colour of Tweek's eyes.

Moving along the row, he next found a box of old video cassette tapes, each one marked with events and dates written carefully in his mom's steady hand; a collection of years too far gone now to try and remember. Beside them was the VCR player they'd long ago replaced with DVD, all its cables still hanging from it like the entrails of some disembowelled creature left there to die.  
         Despite the fact that they were clearly not what he'd come to find, he lingered over them for a few minutes, reading the labels of each tape and trying to find the most recent one that had been recorded. It seemed however that the only things worth keeping on camera had been in the far off past, back when his birthdays had been in only single digits and his parents had still wanted things to work out.

_If someone found all this footage, they'd think we'd all died after I turned nine-years-old._

Perhaps in a way they had; slowly but surely every day that the family had tried to live with that man beneath their roof, until now nothing seemed worth remembering in the carnage that remained. His mom hadn't filmed him the morning of his first day in High School, or Tricia's ballet showcase the year before she quit; hadn't recorded the three of them hugging each other tight the day Laura Tucker had been given sole custody, tears of relief stinging in their eyes and throat. There was no happiness to try and bookmark in the present it seemed, and the idea made Craig feel more defeated than he could bear. Pulling the large box down, he struggled to tuck it under his arm on a sudden whim, flicking his gaze back up to the shelf only to have his heart leap at what had been hidden behind it.

The VHS camcorder. It was caked in dust and spiderwebs, yet nevertheless immediately recognisable as the boy excitedly reached for it with his free hand. He blew on the grey accumulation of grit across the body of the bulky camera and watched the particles billow out into the dimly-lit space, grinning to see the lens cover was thankfully clipped on tight. Still juggling the box, he tried to switch it on only to realise the battery had gone entirely flat.

_That's okay, the charger has to be here somewhere._

Dusting off the camcorder as best he could with the sleeve of his hoodie, he gently placed it in the box and set it down at his feet, scouring the rest of the shelf until he finally found the charger caught up amongst the tangled wires of the VHS player, which he decided to stack on top of the rest of the items in the box before carrying the entire lot back to the house. An electric thrill of excitement was running through him as he placed the box down in his bedroom, having to spend a gruelling half an hour clearing off his messy desk before there was enough space on it for him to take out the video camera and begin inspecting it on the scratched wooden surface.  
           Despite needing a good clean, the object was undamaged by its stay in the garage, although it would need charging and a new blank VHS tape for him to truly know if it still worked. Plugging it in to the adapter, he waited for the small red light to start blinking to tell him it was taking in power before he dug out the birthday cheque he'd been given by his grandma and shoved it in his sweatpants pocket.

"Mom! When does the bank close on a Saturday?" He called out, jogging downstairs to find her sorting laundry in the weak sunlight that filtered through the windows.

All around her on the dining table and chairs she had already folded piles of clean and dry garments, motioning pointedly to the multiple towers of clothing that belonged to him before replying.

"It's only open until midday, so you'll have to hurry sweetheart," she informed him, then shook her head in amused exasperation when he waved his cheque by way of explanation, "You do realise you could have given me that to cash for you on any day I was working this week, don't you?"

"I don't know... maybe," Craig answered out of habit, then continued sheepishly when he received a stern look in response, "I couldn't have made it easy for myself, could I?"

"It would be unusual, yes," His mom agreed, handing him one of the laundry piles as she added, "Make sure you get changed before you leave; I can't have my colleagues seeing my son dressed up like a vagrant."

They exchanged a joking display of middle fingers, then the boy did as he was told and loaded up his arms with as many of the stacks as he could carry before returning to his bedroom. Not bothering to put them away despite his efforts the night before to turn over a new leaf in the personal habits department, he grabbed for a set of fresh clothes and ditched his grubby ones, sighing with relief once he was back in his usual choice of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing on his navy jacket over the top. He buttoned it up as he took the stairs two at a time, calling out a farewell to his mom over his shoulder before stepping out into the frigid day beyond.

The bank was up on the Main Street, which was only a ten minute walk away when travelled at his loping pace. Snow was still falling lightly, collecting in the boy's eyelashes and uncovered hair as he made his way through the mostly deserted streets. Every now and then a car would roll slowly by, tires crunching on the salt that had been thrown over the roads, but otherwise he could have pretended he was alone in the world if he wished.  
            The idea made him feel achingly lonely, and he was glad when he made it to the main road to see other people hurrying two and fro along the strip of shops. Thanks to his reputation as a bad apple fallen not far from a rotten tree, it was usually customary for him to be given unveiled suspicious glares and looks of mild alarm when interacting with members of the public, however without his infamously recognisable woollen hat the people that passed by didn't notice him enough to recognise who he was, and he wove between them as if he were truly just another member of the community.

First was the bank, where he greeted his mom's colleagues as politely as he could whilst they cashed his birthday cheque for him. Once he'd been handed the crisp fifty dollar note, he tucked it into his wallet and hurried through the snow over to the _Photo Dojo_ , South Park's only source of film and photo related retail.  
              The man behind the counter, who had taken Craig's hideous ID photo for his learner's permit a couple of years ago, gave him long hard stare when he was asked if he had any blank VHS tapes for a camcorder. He seemed so coldly unfriendly that the boy almost scowled in return, yet he managed to keep his face neutrally blank until the worker finally informed him they had some in the storeroom and disappeared for a few minutes in search of them.

When he eventually returned to where Craig was waiting anxiously at the counter, the man was holding an entire box of tapes, and begrudgingly said he would let him buy them at a discounted price if he agreed to buy all of them. It was the salesman's adamant belief that no one else in the modern world would ever want to purchase such an obsolete item from his store again, and Craig tried not to smirk as he agreed, handing over his birthday money then pocketing the change in secret glee.

"Good just to get them out of my stock cupboard," the grouchy man kept muttering as the receipt printed in a series of whirrs and clicks, handing the curling paper over with an added, "Wasting space I need for all the SD Cards I have on backorder."

"For sure," Craig intoned flatly, grabbing the box off the counter like he were snatching it from harm's way and then accepting his receipt with a flourish, "Thank you."

"Come back when you want a real film camera! Something _digital_ ," the shopkeeper called as the boy made for the door, and it took everything in Craig's power not to roll his eyes up into his skull.

" _The way forward is sometimes the way back_ ," He intoned in return, quoting the first thing that came to his mind and receiving only a terribly blank look in return.

"I... don't understand a word you just said."

_Is that what I look like when I tell people_ "I don't know" _and give them my disinterested face? Fuck it looks dumb. I should stop that._

" _Labyrinth_? David Bowie?" The boy tried to clarify, then scowled and ducked out of the shop when the man's expression remained unchanged.

_Actually, that's another good non-space related film. I should recommend that to Tweek next time I see him._

The thought almost made him smile, yet as he began the walk back home cradling the box of blank film tapes, he suddenly remembered David Bowie's incredibly clingy leggings he wore during the "Magic Dance" scene of the movie, and grimaced.

_On second thought, maybe I'll just keep that one to myself._

The few streets between the main road and his house seemed longer this time, the boy impatient as he hurried through the slowly increasing amounts of snowflakes flurrying through the air up to his front door. Scraping the wet slush from his shoes on the doormat, he kicked them off as soon as he stepped inside, calling out an obligatory "I'm home!" to the noisy interior of the house. His mom had the radio blaring from the kitchen, singing along with _Fleetwood Mac_ to 'Little Lies' as she washed last night's dinner dishes, while Tricia was in her usual spot on the sofa, typing out a text so fast that her fingers seemed to blur across the phone screen.

Even just the sight of them had the odd lump returning to Craig's throat, his heart beating fast with the knowledge that in some alternate timeline both he and Stan hadn't made it out of Stark's Pond alive. Together they'd sunk into the endless darkness beneath the ice and been robbed of all future days, and despite all the times he'd thought he wouldn't mind that version of the world, after having been faced with the option he was no longer sure he didn't prefer being alive.

Breaking free from his reverie and remembering the task at hand, he dashed up the stairs to his bedroom, picking up the semi-charged camcorder and excitedly placing one of the film tapes inside its empty cartridge. The camera made a small clicking noise as it registered the fresh tape,   and Craig grinned wide as the sound confirmed for him exactly what he'd hoped; it still worked.  
               Popping off the lens cover and pressing the button to begin recording, he pointed the camcorder towards his bedroom window, squinting through the viewfinder to try and centre the wooden cross that divided the glass pane in the shot. Beyond the window he could see the white flakes swirling in the wind, and silently hoped that the footage quality would be enough to pick them up.

He filmed random things around his bedroom for a few minutes, then made his way down to the kitchen with his eye still up to the viewfinder, filming his mom singing and tapping her scrubbing brush on the sink in time with the beat until she turned around and laughed in delight.

"Oh! I didn't realise I had such an avid audience," she said with a smile, gesturing to the camera with a single gloved hand, "Is that what you were searching in the garage for this morning?"

"Uh... yeah," the boy lied, realising he'd completely forgotten about his mission to find the spaceman helmet and blinking with surprise when it occurred to him just how much it didn't seem to matter anymore.

"Are you going to become like that freak from _American Beauty_??" Tricia called from the sofa, poking her tongue out at him when he turned to look at her through the viewfinder, "You know, the one who films trash and cries?"

"No, I don't think so. I mean, I'm filming trash right now, and I'm definitely not crying," Craig shot back, flipping her the bird with his free hand.

"Hey!"

"Well, I think it's good to see you putting all that movie-watching to good use finally," His mom laughed, watching from the kitchen as he walked over to his sister and began zooming in and out on her bemused face, "But you might need to read the instruction manual on how to properly work that thing, Munchkin."

"More like take a _few classes_ on how to _not_ film people like a paparazzo," the girl chimed in dryly, pushing the camcorder away like an exasperated starlet.

"You can't teach RAW TALENT," Craig announced in faux-egotistic response, smiling when he made them both laugh in surprise.

There was something beautiful about the way Laura and Tricia Tucker laughed, perhaps if only because it was a sound not heard often, and as he caught the moment on film the boy was glad he could keep it forever. Tapping the button to stop recording, he lowered the camcorder from his face and shyly allowed them both to see his expression, then froze as the words his sister had spoken sunk through the layers of his consciousness and dredged something up to the surface.

_"Maybe you'd feel less empty about your classes if you just kept envisioning what you're working towards once we graduate," Tweek had mused aloud, waiting a few moments for his stoically unforthcoming companion to reply before adding, "Otherwise you need to pick up at least one class that makes you happy. What's something you care about?"_

_"I don't care about anything," Craig had lied._

But he did. He truly did, and perhaps it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

On a sudden motivated whim, the rest of his Saturday was spent searching for his subject selections guide he'd been given at the beginning of last year, finally finding it wedged between the wall and his desk. After locating within its text-heavy pages a mention of an Audio-Visual class, he then anxiously made the adrenaline-fuelled effort to email the subject's teacher, Mr Meryl, about possibly being able to pick it up as a unit for extra credit on the clunky desktop computer in his dad's study.  
             As soon as he clicked "send" he immediately buried his face in his hands, groaning in sudden regret.

_Why, oh_ **_why_ ** _did I do that?_

After a moment's thought, the answer was clear; because Tweek Tweak had suggested it, and since after the incident at Stark's Pond he had decided he was going to live, he might as well learn to take good advice. Plus, if he was going to try and pass Junior year, some extra credit could only be a positive thing. 

For the first time in what seemed like forever, he had found something he was determined to become good at, even if it meant he had to contend with being vulnerable. It was terrifying, yet as he slowly lifted his head away from his hands he could feel the excitement in it, as vibrant as a jolt of electricity sending a shockwave down his spine.

_Tweek was right. I never really believed I'd become an astronaut, I was just secretly hoping that if I pretended I wanted a future then maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad watching everyone's lives move forward without me._

The boy had been trying to fly so far beneath the radar that he'd ended up crash-landing and telling himself it was fine even when it wasn't. He'd ignored his own discontent and written it off as disinterest when it got too much to handle, and if it weren't for Mr Mackey stepping in and cursing him with the miracle that was being tutored by Tweek, he wasn't sure he'd ever have begun to question it. When it came to caring about his own life, he had a lot of catching up to do, and he knew his current fascination with the camcorder wasn't a cure for all the emptiness still inside of him, but it was a start.  
  


Despite his fledgling determination to rise above the rut he'd been trapped in for the past year, it still wasn't until Sunday night that he finally began to put away his clean laundry, having shifted it over to his desk when he needed to use his bed the night previous. The task was one of such mundane tedium that he had to force himself in the end, grumbling and sighing with each lovingly folded piece of clothing he flung into its designated drawer.

His bedroom was almost tidy once he was done, save for the discarded items still collecting dust from beneath his bed. They glinted at him as he crouched down to squint at the cluster of indistinct silhouettes, wrinkling his nose when he saw just how many things had rolled under there.  
             With a tentative hand he reached into the shadows, grabbing a hold of the first thing he touched and pulling it out to see it was a pair of boxers he had kicked out of his way with just a little too much force a couple of nights ago. He flung them over his shoulder and stretched out his hand again, this time feeling his fingers blindly hit against something small and cylindrical, sending it rolling further under the bed with a rattling sound.

_What the fuck is that...?_

Dropping his head to the floor, the boy fumbled for his phone and switched the torchlight on, scanning the darkness with the beam of white light until he spotted exactly what it was that had escaped his grasp; a medication container, the transparent orange plastic of it's sides allowing him a clear view of the many small round pills inside. He knew it instantly, his mouth falling open as he strained to grab it and bring it out, holding it up to the light and letting his lips shape the words as he read them from the label.

" **XANAX (ALPRAZOLAM)** **0.5mg** : TWEAK, TWEEK  
_TAKE ONE TABLET BY MOUTH EVERY FOUR HOURS OR UNTIL SYMPTOMS DESIST. MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS._ "

In a daze of stunned disbelief he slowly got to his feet, reading and rereading the label of the container in his hand as if the words would suddenly miraculously rearrange themselves if he just concentrated hard enough. When they didn't, he flicked his gaze to the display on his cracked phone screen, wincing when he realised it was a quarter to eleven and he really should have been in bed a while ago.

_I can't believe they were here the whole time..._

Guiltily thinking back to when Tweek had first lost the medication bottle, he internally groaned as he recalled how the twitchy boy had tipped his backpack out onto his bed the night before, during his unwelcome visit to make a study plan. Now that he thought about it, Craig was even sure he'd heard something fall off his bed when he had gotten into it after Tweek had left, and cringed at his past self's nonexistent level of curiosity now that he knew what even just a little bit more interest could have led to.

_Tweek has been suffering this entire time without his meds, and it's all my stupid fault._

With a scowl he shoved the container into his jeans pocket, crossing over to his desk and taking out the note he'd been given with the other boy's cell number on it. A second wave of guilt prickled across his skin as he realised he hadn't yet listened to the recommended song that was scrawled below the digits, tallying it up as another black mark against his name whilst he added the new contact and typed out a text.

**TO:** **Tweek :** _"Found your meds. I'm coming to drop them off now. This is Craig by the way."_

He triple-checked the spelling before sending it, feeling a nervous flutter in his stomach as he waited anxiously for a reply and agonised over what he'd written. Had saying he was going to drop them off this late at night come off too strong? No, he wouldn't have time before school in the morning, and he'd already made Tweek suffer enough as it was. Should he have apologised for being the one who'd had them? Would the sharp-tempered boy be angry with him? The questions flared hot and bright into his mind one after the other, panic beginning to seize control of his heart until the phone buzzed in his hand and lit up to display a notification for one new message.

**Tweek :** _"!!!!!!!!!"_

A pause, then multiple in quick succession.

**Tweek :** _"Where??? This is amazing"_

**Tweek :** _"NO DON'T COME YOU'LL FREEZE TO DEATH ! It's SNOWING dude"_

**Tweek :** _"I'll come to you. You stay warm, okay?"_

Craig blinked in surprise at the sudden flood of correspondence, taking his time to read each one before he felt his mouth curling into an amused smirk.

** TO: ** **Tweek :** _"Meet me halfway. Playground. Ten minutes. See you soon."_

The message sounded more self-assured than he felt, his attention lingering on the time displayed at the top of his screen a moment longer before he shoved it into his back pocket. His mom was sure to protest about him leaving the house in the middle of the night, especially when he had school the next day, and he felt his stomach sink with the knowledge that he had to find a way to leave that would slip past both her and his sister's notice.

_They've both gone to bed, and hopefully will be asleep by now, but the sound of the front door creaking might still wake them._

Snow was falling soft through the darkness beyond the window as he gazed out, briefly considering trying to sneak out through it before deciding that the two storey drop would probably result in an injury. The image of himself lying all broken out there in the freezing cold made him shiver, shaking his head to try and clear the thought from it whilst he pulled his jacket on and buttoned it up tight.  
              Patting his pocket to make sure the medication container was secure, he picked up his shoes in his hand and was about to tiptoe in socked feet out of his bedroom when the suddenly memory of Tweek's perpetual habit of being underdressed for the cold sprang unbidden to his mind. The boy paused, frowning at the niggling certainty that Tweek would be leaving his own plum-coloured house right that instant, foolishly wearing only one of those long-sleeved button downs he liked so much.

_It probably won't even be done up properly._

With a sigh he grabbed the warmest, least worn-out thing he could find in his drawer, which happened to be his freshly clean and dry birthday sweater, and after staring at it for a few seconds trying to gauge whether or not it was too lame to lend Tweek, he shoved it down the front of his jacket. The garment padded him out like a cheap Mall Santa Claus, but he reasoned that at least it would be an extra layer to brace himself against the cold until he reached the playground.

Moving from his bedroom and down the stairs on a light tread, Craig avoided every creaky floorboard with memory alone, feeling adrenaline coursing through him as he finally set foot on the living room floor. All the lights were off in the house, the couch a dark hulking shape his mind could warp into that of a slumbering beast he had to sneak past as he slunk through to the kitchen. The low hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock seemed overly loud in the silence of the sleeping house as he crouched down to slip on his shoes, double-knotting the laces for luck before crossing to the far side of the room to where the back door marked the final obstacle in his daring escape.

Heart in his mouth, the boy turned the lock as slowly as possible, freezing when it clicked open. After waiting a few seconds with his ears straining to hear any movement from upstairs, he breathed out in relief that there was none and eased open the door until there was a gap big enough for him to slip through. The cold hit him like a slap, and he clenched his jaw as he stepped out onto the patio of his backyard.

The shadows grew long and lush across the white blanket of the lawn, cast by the rustling trees along the fence-line and snow-laden clouds creeping over the moon. Wind carried the falling flakes in gentle flurries around Craig as he crept to the gate at the side of his house and quietly unlatched it. The rusted hinges let out a small groan of protest when he pulled it open, sending a jolt of alarm through his body before he realised there was no way it could have been heard from his mom's room at the opposite end of the second storey. With a sigh of relief he ducked through the gate and shut it, looking furtively both ways up and down the street to check no one else was bizarrely out and about at such an hour before he set off towards the children's playground that was exactly halfway between Tweek's house and his, shoulders hunched against the cold but his step light with the thrill of sneaking off into the dark to meet his secret acquaintance.

Nerves started to prickle up and down his spine when the playground finally came into view, partially lit by a solitary streetlamp that cast it's glow across the angular shapes of the equipment. At the gap in the chainlink fence that served as a gate into the park, a solitary figure waited, their head bowed and feathery hair flashing blindingly golden as it caught the light. Pale hands wrung themselves in the cream flannelette of the poorly-buttoned pyjama shirt they wore, thoughtlessly pulling the hem of it high enough that a flash of bare stomach was visible between it and the top of their matching pyjama pants. Across the entirety of them the cast from the moon washed up against the orange of the streetlamp as if they were drawing in the light like moths flocking to an electric bulb, and the sight stole the air from Craig's lungs. Feet slowing to a stop, he gazed out from the shadows towards the glowing spectre, sure that he might be bearing witness to the closest a human could come to being ethereal.

_He looks like a star._

However, the closer he got the more details could be picked out, etching themselves against the dark; a sparse trail of dark blonde hairs meandering from the protrusion of his outie bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband, then the scattering of larger freckles over the sharp lines of his collarbones and flecked down the triangle of chest visible where his shirt was undone at the top. He was sleep-ruffled and twitching sporadically, with the dark circles beneath his eyes resembling two bruised crescents in the dim light, and Craig focused intently on every small flaw he could until the senseless nervousness that fluttered through his stomach slowly abated to the point that he was no longer scared to step forward and make himself known. 

_He's not a star, he's just a scruffy boy._

Shaking his head to try and clear any remaining dazedness, he moved to step out onto the road and misjudged the footfall, his scuffed shoe slipping off the kerb with a scraping noise that echoed out across the street. At the sound Tweek looked up, face pale and flinching with fright as he squinted towards where Craig was emerging from the dark.

"Hello?"

Whatever spell he might have had over him was entirely broken the moment he let out the squeak of fright, and Craig rolled his eyes and sauntered forward, coming to a stop in front of the tentative blonde.

"You realise that kind of behaviour would get you killed in a horror movie, right?" He drawled, then recoiled with a snickering laugh as a vengeful hand swiped out at him.

"Were you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" Tweek huffed, blinking rapidly in clear relief at the sight of the lanky boy.

"No," Craig denied, pulling the medication container out of his pocket and handing it over, "Just this."

Tweek grinned wide and took the object from his hand, rattling it compulsively whilst Craig removed the body-warmed sweater from the inside of his jacket and tossed it over to him. When he received a perplexed look for his actions, he found himself sighing and trying not to blush.

"Put it on, you're making me cold just looking at you," he brusquely explained, then added in a defensive sneer, "Nice pyjamas by the way."

Tweek gave him a withering look.

"Well, we cant _all_ sleep in the same jacket and jeans we wear to school everyday, Craig Tucker," The blonde snapped back, gesturing to the other boy's ensemble yet eagerly pulling the sweater on with a shiver regardless.

"I sleep naked actually, but I managed to refrain from coming to meet you while still dressed for bed," Craig drawled lazily in reply, relishing in the colour that spread down Tweek's cheeks.

" _What_ — ah — what a shame."

His heart jolted.

"It is?"

"Yeah, a shame you felt the need to share that information," Tweek scoffed, rolling his eyes and rattling his meds once more.

"Do you want to take one of those?" Craig asked flatly, trying to look nonchalant instead of offended, "There's a drinking fountain in the playground."

Tweek smiled softly but shook his head, mumbling, "Its okay, I don't feel anxious right now."

Blinking with surprise, the taller of the two chewed his lip for a second, considering the question that his tongue begged to be asked as it licked against the insides of his teeth. His blue-eyed gaze remained on the blonde boy's amber one, watching him watch the indentation of his canine into the soft flesh of his lower lip and feeling a shiver pass down his spine.

"Don't I scare you anymore?" He finally asked, his voice coming out too husky and raw for the joking manner he'd intended.

"No, only when I thought you might hate me after I said all those stupid things," Tweek admitted abashedly, looking up at him through his eyelashes in the way that made Craig's stomach twist in knots, "I'm glad we're friends again."

_Friends..._ **_Friends??_ **

Despite wanting to start accusing him of breaking his own stupid Truce Rule, Craig managed to hold his tongue as he instead nodded and smiled without showing his teeth.

"Me too, man."

"Thank you so much for finding my meds and bringing them to me straight away," Tweek continued in a self-conscious rush, tugging at the hem of the sweater he'd been lended as he added, "And thank you for bringing this for me so I wouldn't be cold. It was really — really thoughtful of you and ah, it just means a lot to me, okay?"

For a moment he thought Tweek might hug him, watching the boy moving forwards with his arms opening up as if to wrap around his waist. Craig jolted in alarm, then went still with anticipation, leaning ever so slightly towards the oncoming embrace as if to fall into it might be the thing that saved him; as if he were the one out there in the frozen lake, begging for a friendly hand to find his.  
             Yet the hug never came, Tweek faltering and falling short, and for some reason it made him want it even more; a craving for the warmth of Tweek to envelope him, to feel just for a moment the sting of his fever-hot skin pressed to his own and scalding him to ashes. There was no agenda to the desire, no plans hatched or half-hopes lighting up along his sternum; it just simply _was_ , in every meaty pulsation of his animal heart.

Tweek was shuffling his feet in the freshly fallen snow frosting itself across the tar of the road, a rosy blush beginning to creep like wildfire down his cheeks and neck when he finally met Craig's eye. The cuffs of the hand-knitted sweater were hanging over his fingertips, and he looked like a child as he brought one up to wipe a snowflake off his nose in a shy gesture.

"You know, sneaking out to come meet you might just be the bravest thing I've done all year," He said with a small rasping laugh, and even just the sound of his voice out there in the dark of the street was enough to make Craig smile.

"No way, you're plenty brave," He disagreed, elaborating when Tweek began to vigorously shake his head, "You're brave enough to fake the flu to that old hag of a school nurse, and brave enough to have come to school the past couple of days even without your meds."

"Yeah but I only managed faking it because you helped me so much, and — and I wouldn't have come to school if my dad hadn't forced me," the golden boy protested, fluttering his hands around as if to gesture to a physical version of the points that had been laid out in front of him.

In an act of impulse, Craig caught one in his own as it swiped through the air and held it still, feeling every tremble as if it were a part of himself. The movement surprised him, and he stared at their interlocked hands with an unexplainable wistfulness before daring to look back up at the other boy, feeling his tongue move slick along his lips before he spoke.

"You managed to scare me into a truce, that took some bravery."

Tweek smiled, "I guess I did."

The warmth of his hand left an aching absence when he retracted it from Craig's own, Tweek letting out a nervously coughing laugh while his eyes darted to look anywhere that wasn't his face. Clearing his throat in confusingly crestfallen discomfort, Craig also averted his gaze to his feet, kicking off the snow that had drifted onto the tops of his shoes. Yet when he finally met Tweek's eye again it was as if he'd been punched in the gut by his own desire, still inexplicably yearning for the boy to pull him closer. He felt it might have something to do with the almost complete lack of physical contact he had with other people, and possibly being lonely, but whatever it was, the sheer want of _something_ within him coiled up tense and needy beneath his skin.

A newly awakened hunger, and Craig Tucker was ravenous.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," He sighed, breaking the silence as he gestured in the general direction of the other boy's house.

"Ah, wait no, then you'll have to walk twice as far back alone," Tweek protested, twisting the royal blue wool of the sweater he wore between his hands as he fretted, "That's not -- not safe."

"Don't worry, I'm sure my abrasive personality will keep any potential kidnappers at bay," Craig said tonelessly, setting off down the street before there could be any further discussion on the subject.

The sound of Tweek's wheezing laugh echoed in the street around them as he hurried to catch up, the two boys dawdling along as if trying to stretch the time out for as long as they plausibly could without each other realising. A rock was found and kicked between them through the thin layer of snow atop the road whilst they in turn shared the details of their respective weekends. Craig nodded along in a rare display of genuine interest as Tweek told him about how busy _Tweak Bros._  coffee house had been the past few days, reenacting a comedically painful altercation between himself and a lady he accidentally gave the wrong order to with slowly decreasing levels of shyness until Craig was choking with laughter.  
            Then it was his turn, and the laughter stopped whilst he shared what happened at Stark's Pond, feeling the heavy gold of Tweek's gaze on his face as he spoke and spoke and let the words pour out of him until he didn't feel like he was drowning in it anymore. He kept expecting Tweek to change the subject or to get distracted and interrupt in moment of thoughtlessness, but he never did; he just listened until Craig had run out of words to try and make sense of the ice breaking, Stan Marsh, a spaceman helmet he'd wanted desperately to find and all the things he'd found instead.

Finally, when Craig went quiet and the only sound became that of the rock they were kicking skittering up the road ahead of them, the blonde boy replied in a quiet rasp, a spark of excitement in his gentle tone.

"So what kind of movie are you going to make now that you've joined the AV class then?"

Craig frowned in confusion.

"Huh?"

"A movie? You have to make a short one for the big final project in that class," Tweek elaborated, getting more and more animated as he spoke, "I only know because the films get shown in between the live acts at the Showcase Night at the end of the semester. Mrs Streibel told me I'll have one scheduled in before I come on for my music piece."

"Oh... shit," Craig mumbled, feeling panic begin to throb in the far-off reaches of his body as he tried to laugh it off, "You better hope they put mine before yours then, just so you can look _extra_ good in comparison."

"Pffft, or so that it can look _extra_ demented when I come on stage and just start key-bashing the piano while screeching anxiously," the other boy countered, and they grinned at each other in the dark.

"I don't know dude, that sounds like a pretty good performance to me," Craig laughed, "It would easily beat listening to the shit they play on the radio these days."

Tweek gave him a sideways glance, smirking.

"What?" He demanded flatly, feeling defensive.

"Nothing... I just didn't realise you were a _Music Snob_ ," Tweek teased, snickering as Craig flipped him the bird before his ember eyes lit up in sudden recollection and he asked, "Did you listen to ' _The Boy With the Thorn in His Side'_?"

"Uh no, not yet," Craig mumbled, trying to swallow back the wave of guilt that constricted his throat.

The light died in Tweek's eyes, the boy coughing slightly and then offering up an embarrassed smile that Craig supposed was meant to make him feel better yet strangely did the exact opposite.

"It's okay... it was a stupid suggestion."

"No!" He protested, blinking with surprise at his own vehemence before continuing with forced calm, "It wasn't stupid, and I _am_ going to listen to it, man. In fact, let's listen to it right now."

Pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket, he ignored Tweek's mortified attempts to stop him as he logged into Spotify and found the song, pressing play while batting away the other boy's fussing hands. Using his height to his advantage, he held the device up high in the air as the first few notes began to play and grabbed the other boy's wrist, using Tweek's momentum to send him spinning off in a stumbling twirl. 

"Craig --!" He began to protest, but whatever he was about to say was cut off as the lead singer of _The Smiths_ began to sing in a melancholic warble.

_"The boy with the thorn in his side_  
_Behind the hatred there lies_  
_A murderous desire for love."_

The two of them froze, tension thickening the air as they each watched each other expectantly; Tweek nervously awaiting Craig's reaction and Craig hoping for some kind of explanation so that he didn't have to ask the question that rattled insistently through his mind.

_You think **this** perfectly describes me?_

The track itself was a rambling sprawl of plucked strings and hi-hat drumbeats, overlaid with wavering vocals that spoke of a young man who had somehow fallen from grace to the point that no one wanted to believe in him anymore. It floated out into the night from the phone speakers, seeming to vibrate with every note against the cold of Craig's hand whilst he tried not to feel like all the walls he had built around himself were made of glass. Despite keeping his face intentionally blank so as not to show the distress beginning to bubble up inside him, he must have been easier to read than he thought as Tweek's amber gaze turned soft and gentle, the golden boy beginning to shuffle his feet and bob along to the music in what seemed to be an awful attempt at dancing to ease the tension.

"Are you gonna dance with me, Craig Tucker?" He asked, his voice rasping and light.

"Like in one of those cheesy romcoms you like? No way, man," Craig replied, letting the smallest of smiles begin to pull at his mouth as he added dryly, "I'm a straight white boy; I don't dance."

He didn't know why he felt the need to stress the fact that he was straight, but it suddenly seemed important as they began to move through the snowy streets once more, with Tweek crossing his arms defensively and grumbling something indecipherable to himself. Whatever his reasons were, he felt a prickle of guilt across the back of his neck as he watched the other boy become rigid, wishing he knew what to say that would make him go back to his funny little dance.

_"Will they ever believe us?_  
_And when you want to live_  
_How do you start?_  
_Where do you go?_  
_Who do you know?"_

The last chords of the song played out, and Craig pocketed his phone, swallowing thickly as the silence prickled around them.

"So that song's me, huh?" He finally said, glancing over at his companion before continuing sheepishly, "Just a prickly jerk?"

"Yeah," Tweek agreed solemnly, then laughed as Craig shot him a wounded look, "But not in the way you think. It's less that the boy in the song is a bad person but more that he's hurting and the pain makes him mean. Like the story of the lion with the thorn in its paw."

"The what?"

"The lion with the thorn in its paw," He repeated, explaining, "It's like this old folk story about a guy who is ambushed by this savage lion, and it's going to devour him but the guy notices that it has a huge thorn in it's paw and pulls it out for it."

"... because that's a normal thing to do when a lion attacks you," Craig drawled, interrupting.

"It's a fable! It doesn't have to make sense," Tweek snapped, then cleared his throat and finished calmly, "But anyway, the lion is no longer in pain so it becomes the guy's friend instead of killing him,  because the dude was the first person to look past his own fear to realise it needed help."

Up ahead the plum house loomed, a visible end to their nighttime wanderings that came with windows dark and curtains drawn. As they came to stop on the white frost of the front lawn, Craig gave the boy a long, flat look, feeling a flicker of warmth light up in his chest and trying to ignore it as he quirked a single brow.

"Do you think you're going to find a thorn in my paw, Tweek?" He asked in a deadpan, watching Tweek grin wide and dazzling.

"Oh, doubtlessly, but I'll let you know whether I decide to pull it out or not."

It was said light and laughing, both of them trying their best to be quiet as the golden boy nervously muffled his wheezing laugh with his hand whilst Craig scoffed and snickered. It must have meant something, might have meant the world, but neither of them took the time to stop and ask. By morning the girls would have posted the fresh list for that week and a path would be taken from which there was no return journey, but as Craig watched Tweek sneak back into his house all he knew was that he was glad to be alive, knew it in the pitter-patter of his linear heart.


	18. The List

_\- in which revenge is a dish best served lukewarm -_

"I'm the biggest idiot in our school."

"T-t-try again," Jimmy stuttered, scowling.

"I'm the biggest idiot in South Park? In the world?" Clyde exaggerated his earlier announcement, clutching at Craig's jacket in genuine distress, "In the universe??"

The silent boy shook him off irritably, his mind a thousand miles away from the argument his friends were having on his behalf. Exhaustion coiled itself tighter and tighter around the throbbing pain in his skull, making it hard to process the mess of events that had led to the four of them being huddled on the front seats of the bus, as far away from the girls and Stan's gang as they could get, and bickering in hushed whispers.

"Being an idiot doesn't excuse you from being to blame for outing Craig not once, but TWICE, Clyde" Token sighed, rolling his eyes when Clyde shot him a wounded look.

_Wait,_ **_what -?_ **

"Outing me??" Craig queried in a sudden outburst, feeling his pulse quicken inexplicably as he tried to swallow back the panicked nausea and nonchalantly clarify, "You mean when he told Bebe I hadn't kissed anyone before...?"

Token gave him a perplexed look, "Yes? And then when he did it again on facebook this morning?"

"Come b-b-back down to earth,  _Astro-B-boy_. Where h-have you b-b-been the past ten minutes?" Jimmy quipped in an attempt to lighten the tension, but all three of them still gave Craig concerned frowns as he blinked dazedly and once again checked the facebook post that had been sent to him by Token.

**Pleases and Sparkles Committee :**  " _It's Monday, so that means we have a new list for all our fellow Junior girls' viewing pleasure! This week's poll is on best kissers ;-*_

_ Best Kissers in Grade, ranked: _

_1\. Stan Marsh_   
_2\. Kenny McCormick_   
_3\. Kevin Foley_   
_4\. Token Black_

_..."_

Craig felt his eyes glazing over as he tried to read the names, finding it extra hard to hold the letters still long enough within his brain to fit them together. Scanning down the list, he managed to pick out Kyle Broflovski coming in at number seven, then jolted in surprise as another name leapt out at him from the screen.

_"9. Tweek Tweak"_

He glared at it for several seconds, wrinkling his nose at the idea that any of the girls in his grade had made-out with someone who had such chapped lips, then continued scrolling, straight to the bottom where Cartman was ranked as the very worst kisser in the grade. If he hadn't already known he couldn't possibly be on there, he might have checked to see where he himself was placed on the list, but he didn't need to. He might have even scoured through each name and number to see if every other boy in the grade had made it onto the list, but again, he didn't need to; Clyde had done the work for him, as well as for every other person who followed the  _Pleases and Sparkles Committee_  page on facebook.

There, under the display counter for the multitude of likes the post had received, in the comments section beneath the post, was Clyde's name attached to the very first response, the one which every single person would see when interacting with the list.

**Clyde Donovan:**   _UM excuse me this is mean, u have every guy in the grade on here except 4 Craig. u can't do him dirty like this._

**Bebe Stevens**   **replied:**   _Well, since none of us girls have ever kissed him we can hardly vote on it can we? :-) x_

It was the perfect sucker-punch. Not only had she managed to make it public knowledge that he was in every way a virgin, but she'd also insinuated that if he now tried to claim he  _had_ been kissed then it would mean he'd been kissed by a  _boy_ , since none of the girls had. What made it worse was that Clyde had tried to delete the comment in regretfully delayed hindsight and it had been reposted as a screenshot and pinned to the top of the post.

"I'm so so so so sorry," Clyde was snivelling from beside him, the sound of his ever-increasing hysteria filtering in through Craig's concentration until he finally looked up from his phone.

"Okay," He acknowledged flatly, turning his attention back to the screen. Kenny had commented something about how if Clyde was so worried maybe he should do his research and submit a rating for Craig himself, but the spelling was so poor that the boy couldn't completely decipher it.

The lack of forgiveness only further fuelled Clyde's guilty rambling, and Craig had to try and ignore him as he began crying in earnest. Loud, hiccuping sobs filled the air, accompanied by Token and Jimmy's attempts to get him to be quiet up until they finally arrived at school and the boy could escape out from under the barrage of emotion.

"What are you going to do, Craig?" Token asked him as they made their way across the school lawn.

"Go to my Calculus class?"

Token gave him a look of peevish concern, sighing yet not pushing further to get past the flat tone that gave nothing of Craig's inner turmoils away. No one ever really did, apart from one particularly stubborn blonde boy.  
           At the thought of Tweek, Craig felt his stomach clench up, a prickle of what he guessed must be irritation flaring through his bloodstream at the knowledge that the twitchy social outcast had managed to rank as ninth best kisser in the grade whilst he himself was still yet to kiss anyone at all.

_Who in their right mind would want to kiss_ **_Tweek_ ** _of all people??_

The scowl that found its way onto his face silenced any further attempts at communication he might have received from his friends as he stalked through the halls, distractedly grunting a goodbye to them whilst the other three looked on with matching worried expressions. A vibration his pocket alerted him to a new message, and he irritably checked it as he wove through the crowds of students with his head dipped down in an effort not to make unwanted eye-contact with any of his peers. Every now and then a giggle or hushed remark would make the knife of anxiety in his stomach twist, yet he never looked up to see whether they were aimed at him.

7:55 am |  **Stan Marsh:**   _"Tough break, Tucker"_

Craig tried not to smirk at the facebook message, reading it in Stan's voice and momentarily wavering in his resolve to be moody about the entire situation.

7:56 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"Your girlfriend and her gang have it in for me."_

7:56 am |  **Stan Marsh:**   _"First of all, she's NOT my girlfriend anymore and secondly, they don't have it in for you, they just all had crushes on you at some point and since you failed to EVER make a move they're now punishing you"_

7:58 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"That's fucked up."_

7:58 am |  **Stan Marsh:**   _"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned my dude, also, my gang are definitely going to tease you about this today so steer clear"_

7:59 am |  **Craig Tucker:**   _"Gee, thanks for the heads up."_

7:59 am |  **Stan Marsh:**   _"I feel like a double agent, I'm basically James Bond right now"_

He rolled his eyes at his phone screen, pocketing the device and sitting down in his usual place by the back window, stoically ignoring the gazes of his classmates that prickled across his skin. It surely wasn't that interesting whether or not he'd been kissed before, yet the same nauseous feeling he'd had after Bebe had tried to kiss him was beginning to coil and burn alongside the static rumbling within the confines of his body. Was he a broken thing? A half-made machine with no feelings and no spare parts to fill the achingly empty spaces inside of him; an emotionless thug as Tweek had once said.

_... and now everyone knows._

"Hey."

The unexpectedly soft and sweet greeting broke the boy from his reverie, looking up to see Tweek sliding into the empty seat beside him. He looked sleepy, eyes half-lidded and the shadows beneath them made stark in the light from the fluorescents above, yet when their gazes met the small smile he gave Craig felt like a whispered secret shared between them; something about knowing what he looked like leaning towards him in the dead of the night, something about holding each other's hands.

It was more terrifying than any list the girls could come up with.

"Oh, hi," He managed to choke back, clearing his throat before adding teasingly, "You're very calm this morning."

"Yeah well, I got visited by this strange dude last night who gave back my meds," Tweek joked back, his face alight with impish mischief, "He was creepily tall, and looked kind of like you except without that silly hat and not smelling of dirty laundry."

"I don't smell of dirty laund-- wait, you've  _smelt_  me??" Craig protested, horrified.

"You shoved your wet shirt in my face last week, I'm pretty sure I've even  _tasted_  you, man," Tweek informed him, dissolving into warm laughter whilst Craig felt this cheeks light aflame.

Even with the joke being more or less on him, the boy couldn't help but watch on with a startling amount of fondness as his friend's eyes crinkled up in the corners, his laugh all breathy like the wheezing of an old dog in the heat of summer. It shouldn't have sounded as wonderful to him as it did - he was mildly aware of how ugly the noise truly was - yet somehow knowing the laugh was Tweek's, was his true and unguarded expression of amusement, made it almost impossible not to love hearing.

"Oh! Thanks again for lending me this by the way," the blonde boy blurted out once he'd managed to stop laughing, unzipping his backpack and pulling out Craig's neatly folded sweater.

He moved to pass it back, but Craig shook his head, eyeing the nearly threadbare sleeves of Tweek's shirt.

"Keep it for now, it's too cold to be wearing only one layer," He replied sternly, nodding with satisfaction when Tweek grumbled wordlessly and pulled the garment on.

"Thanks --"

"Ey!  _Fucker!"_

Cartman's voice blared obnoxiously from across the room, interrupting Tweek mid-sentence and pulling the attention of the entire classroom towards his gargantuan self. Never one to learn from his mistakes, the rotund boy was once again leaning back in his chair despite the behaviour having been a leading factor to it breaking the last time they'd had Calculus, his doughy face turned to where the two of them sat in the back row.

"I always knew you weren't as great as you  _think_  you are," Cartman sneered, his jowls rumpling in the hideous mockery of a smile, "How does it feel to have not even made it onto the list?"

At the question, Craig donned a mask of complete indifference, blinking at the other boy as if wholeheartedly bored by his jibe. Behind the facade, a prickle of discomfort itched somewhere in the dark.

"What list?" Tweek asked suddenly, looking perplexedly between the two rivals.

The prickle of discomfort warped into the flutterings of anxiety as Craig's mask fractured, looking towards the boy beside him in surprise.

_Of course, he said he doesn't really use facebook... Fuck, and to think I could have gotten away with him never finding out how lame I am._

"Oh wow, Twink, I forgot you could talk," Cartman mock-gasped, eliciting a few giggles from the class.

"His name is  _Tweek_ , you moronic tub of lard," Craig spat, the seething red of his temper beginning to bubble up from the depths of him.

"I'M NOT FUCKING FAT!" The rotund boy shouted back, then visibly made an effort to calm himself before addressing Tweek, "The girl's new list this week ranked all the boys in the grade on their kissing ability... oh, all of them except one."

"Why?" Tweek murmured quietly, so quietly that only the boy nearest to him heard.

"I haven't kissed anyone," Craig replied through gritted teeth, handing over his phone with the post onscreen so that Tweek could fully understand the humiliation of it all whilst narrowing his eyes against the sight of Cartman's gleeful face.

"It's  _so sad_ , but I guess anyone with such  _fucked-up teeth_  couldn't  _possibly_  kiss well..." The fat boy continued in the pretence of pity, and the words hit Craig like a well-aimed bullet.

Glaring savagely, his lips parted to unleash a stinging reply yet no sound came out, for right at that moment someone else spoke, their voice an icy rasp.

"You do realise that Craig not being on the list only means that no one knows whether he's a good kisser or not?" Tweek queried in pure disdain, his eyes still on the phone screen as he finished scrolling through the girls' list before looking up to mockingly announce, "Whereas you were put to the test and have been deemed the absolute  _worst_  in the grade, Cartman."

For a moment Cartman looked absolutely stunned, as if the usually silent and uninvolved Tweek Tweak had stood up and slapped him across the face instead of simply making a smart remark. Then his small piggish eyes narrowed, a dark flicker running through them as looked between Craig and his unlikely protector. It was only for a moment, but the machinations of something evil ticked visibly within his gaze, and the sight was enough to make Craig's stomach clench with anxiety, twisting inside of him as if he'd just accidentally flashed his opponent his cards and now whether he liked it or not, the game was no longer running in his favour.

He pushed the feeling away, keeping his face a mask of nonchalance as Cartman backed down, the class still laughing at his expense all around and the moment hopefully forgotten. With a grateful glance at Tweek, he was still trying to think of something to say when Ms Ellen finally bustled in, dropping a stack of quiz papers on her desk and demanding silence whilst they did their test.   
             Relieved of any expectation to acknowledge the actions of his maybe-but-not-quite friend, Craig pocketed his phone and fidgeted, trying to remember all the things he and Tweek had studied for calculus last week. Some details were hazy, the exact methods to solve the math problems elusive, but he could remember the way the blonde boy's hands had looked as he scrawled the equations into his notebook, the knuckles pink from exposure to the cold.

He only wished the vivid memory could help him to  _not_  flunk his quiz.

When the test was blessedly over and the papers collected by Ms Ellen, Craig breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the boy beside him with a sheepish expression.

"How did you go?" Tweek asked, absentmindedly chewing on the end of his pen.

"Eh, okay, what about you?" Craig replied, grabbing the abused piece of stationary out of his mouth and wrinkling his nose at the glistening thread of saliva that came with it. He quickly handed it back.

"I can't believe I came in ninth on that dumb list."

Taken aback by Tweek's distracted comment, he made a scoffing sound, then winced as something twisted painfully in his guts; a hook, a line, a sinker, all embedded into the vulnerable flesh of his belly.

"Who  _have_  you kissed?" He asked in a low murmur, careful not to have Ms Ellen hear them from where she explained a problem from the quiz up the front of the room.

"Millie Larsen back in freshman year," The blonde whispered in reply, his eyes already on the equation being written across the board and his pen beginning to scribble down notes.

Craig watched him with sickness spreading through the rush of his bloodstream, flooding into the useless cavern of a mouth never once graced with another's taste. He sat there, trying to make sense of it all, and found there was only one possible explanation for the endlessly sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Millie Larsen... she's hot."

_I must like her or something?_   
  
  


\--------------------------------------------  
  
  


The girl was stifling a giggle behind her dainty hand and trying not to spit her chocolate milk everywhere, going pink in the face from the effort. Her strawberry blonde hair had been cropped just below her chin for as long as anyone could remember, as if she'd found out the style suited her in elementary and never thought to change it, and as Craig watched her shyly brush it away from her eyes he realised for the first time how close it was in colour to Tricia's. Her gaze met his for what must have been the third or fourth time from across the room, and she blushed even brighter pink and excitedly whispered something to her friends.

_Any second now... any second..._

"Dude, are you alright? You're glaring at Millie Larsen over there like you're going to throw your food tray at her," Clyde said through a mouthful of food, and Craig blinked as if breaking free from a trance.

Returning his attention to his own lunch, the boy sighed quietly as he realised he'd been pressing the fork in his hand so hard against the cafeteria table that the tines had bent. Lifting it up and inspecting it, his jaw clenched in irritation as he realised he couldn't hope to straighten the prongs back out, and he pushed his chair out from the table with a scrape.

"I need a new fork," He muttered, standing abruptly and shuffling off towards the cutlery at the end of the lunch line whilst his friends shared mildly worried glances.

Of only one thing he was now sure: Millie Larsen was not hot. At least, as far as Craig was concerned she wasn't. After agonising over it throughout the first few classes of the day, he had now been staring at her for the past ten minutes of their lunch-break trying to figure out why he apparently had a secret crush on the girl. Being unable conjure up any emotion towards her apart from vague resentment, he was now more confused than ever.

_I know what crushes feel like. I'm sure I've had one once, right?_

Gaze affixed to the bent tines of the mangled utensil, the boy was deep in thought as he crossed the room, trying to recall a single time when he'd liked someone. The only person that came to mind was The Red Racer from the television show he'd watched when he was a child, yet he immediately dismissed him after being confronted with the sudden memory of announcing his love for the character at the dinner table one night and his dad telling him that only men who were "flaming queers" felt that way about other men. The thought made him shudder, still squinting at the fork in his hand and trying in vain to think of another example, of  _any_  other example. 

It wasn't until he heard the sound of Bebe's sweetly mocking voice that he realised he'd made the mistake of wandering directly between the tables at which the girls' and Stan's gang were seated.

"Shame you didn't make the list, Craig," She called, her eyes glittering with malicious amusement, "Do you want us to assign someone to rate you?"

The Numbness bristled within him as he looked up from the fork and met her gaze with a flat, disinterested look of his own. At the clear lack of enthusiasm, Bebe scowled.

"Nice play, girls, I don't know  _how_  I'll ever get over this," He intoned, making sure every word dripped with contempt.

"Next time, stay the fuck away from my boyfriend when I tell you to," Wendy snapped, leaning past Bebe to fix him with an icy glare.

"Last time I checked, he wasn't  _your_  boyfriend anymore," Craig sneered back, feeling vindictive pleasure seep like poison into his bloodstream as he watched her flinch.

The girls around the table all levelled him with hostile gazes, yet none of them had time to defend their friend before an obnoxious voice interrupted from the table beside them.

"Ohhh, what a  _sick_  burn, Craig."

It was Cartman, his piggish eyes alight with glee as he leaned towards them all conspiratorially, knowing most of the cafeteria was watching them. He'd always loved any excuse for an audience, yet even more so when it came with the chance to redeem himself after his earlier humiliation. Beside him Kenny was stealing the food off his tray whilst he was distracted, and on the other side of the table Kyle was wrapped in a passionate embrace with Heidi Turner. Stan looked on with a queasy expression, his fists clenched on the tabletop as if at any second he might have to fight his way out.

Craig understood the feeling only too well.

"Okay," He dismissed flatly, his age-old nonchalant routine being the only one he knew well enough to perform under pressure.

The only flaw in his plan was that Eric Cartman didn't like being dismissed.

"Oh woww, is that the  _best_ you can do without your little nerd bodyguard around,  _Fucker?"_  The rotund boy jeered, looking left and right in a pretend-search before asking, "Where is that  _twink-looking spaz_ anywa--"

He never finished the question, his sneering voice pitching into a howl of pain as Craig lunged across the space and sent the two of them sprawling onto the cafeteria floor in a collision of bone and blubber. The numbness was red inside him, aflame with fury and a savage protectiveness that burned white hot through the very centre of it all. Cartman screamed profanities as Craig pinned him down with one hand and raised the other in a tight fist readied to slam into the ugly mouth that had spoken such words.

_Take it back Take it back TAKE IT BACK -_

Arms wrapped tight around his chest before the blow could land, restraining him in a vicelike cage of muscle and the sour smell of spirits.

"Dude, dude stop," Stan was whispering in his ear, barely audible over the hoots and hollers of their blood-hungry audience.

Craig thrashed as he was dragged off Cartman, his face stony with violent determination, striking out hard enough to make the other boy yelp in surprise yet still not enough to break free. At the sound of his best friend's cry, Kyle leapt into the fight, grabbing Craig by the collar of his jacket in a manoeuvre that would have been threatening if not for the small fact that they were the same height.

"Hurt Stan, and I'll fucking kill you. You got that?" The redhead snarled, his face mere inches from Craig's own.

He considered spitting in it.

"Kill  _yourself_  then, Broflovski," Craig seethed, feeling Stan's grip tighten around him and leaning back into the touch as if it were armour, "Or are you not done tongue-bathing Heidi yet?"

"Dude...!" Stan choked out, exactly as Kyle dropped his grip in surprise.

"Yeah, fuck you Broflovski!" Clyde jeered, slightly out of breath after running over from their table as he barrelled between the rival boy and his friend, his Adams Apple bobbing as he had to crane his neck to look up into Kyle's face.

"Shut the fuck up, Donovan, you midget prick!" Kenny yelled from where he was still sitting at the table, shovelling the contents of everyone's abandoned pudding cups into his mouth.

_Jesus Christ this is escalating._

"H-hey now f-f-fellas, why don't y-you just h-hug and make up? That's what Stan's d-doing to Craig," Jimmy intervened from afar, then flashed a winning smile as he delivered the punchline, "Either that or he's t-trying t-to bone him."

_No, Jimmy don't-_

Craig barely had time to shoot his friend a warning glance before Stan was releasing his hold and shoving him roughly away, hands violent against the sharpness of his shoulder blades. The force sent him tipping forward, crashing into Clyde and launching the smaller boy headfirst into Kyle, who went down like a bowling pin onto the cafeteria floor. Clyde landed on top of him with an explosive "oof" sound that was lost to the laughter that echoed through the space, their audience seemingly delighted by the clownish display.

"Say that again, Jimmy! Fucking say that again, I dare you!" Stan was shouting drunkenly over the cacophony, and this time it was Craig's turn to grab a hold of him, shaking him by the shoulders as if the whiplash might snap him out of it.

"He was joking, man," He whispered urgently, needing no one else to hear him save for the black-haired boy bristling beneath his touch, "He didn't mean it as anything but a cheap joke."

"Fuck off, Tucker!"

The snarl was quiet and low, yet it hit like a physical blow when it was spat into his face, and Craig almost flinched as he held the boy still. A deep breath, the sigh of an exhale. When he spoke, there was no redness of temper or numb static to taint the words, just the calm of his voice breaking through the chaos around them.

"It's okay, Stan."

He could feel the fight leave him, the two of them going limp and then breaking apart as if nothing had happened, as if no one had seen. Perhaps no one had, everyone too busy focusing on Kyle and Clyde furiously trying to disentangle themselves on the floor, but as Stan stepped to go assist his incensed friend, Craig saw that at least two people had noticed.

The first was Wendy Testaburger, her face gone grey with shock as if she'd just had the floor ripped out from beneath her, although why exactly he couldn't hope to guess.

The second was Tweek, standing with his thermos and a sheet of paper each in a white-knuckled grip by the entrance to the cafeteria. The dark blonde of his brows were pulled together in a frown, but when he caught his eye the expression disappeared and he beckoned with the crumpled paper.

Craig gave a rare grin, and like a fish on a hook he jogged the straight line to where the golden boy was waiting, had been waiting, for who knew how long.  
  
"Starting fights again, Craig Tucker?" Tweek asked teasingly when he arrived at his side, the hint of a smirk beginning to play across his mouth.

"What can I say? It's a hobby," Craig shrugged, and was rewarded with the full spread of the other boy's smile.

"Not anymore, man; I ran into Mr Mackey on my way to the library and he said that your late-enrolment into the AV class was approved," He informed him, the genuine excitement in his tone causing him to sound almost childlike, "You just need to sign this sheet and give it to Mr Meryl when you go to the class today."

Simultaneously chuffed and more than a little sheepish, Craig accepted the piece of paper, smoothing out the wrinkles made in its upper corner before finally asking, "How come you were on your way to the library? It's lunch time." 

"You know I don't have any friends, Craig," Tweek sighed, fiddling with the oversized sleeve of the borrowed jumper he wore, "If I came here like everyone else, I'd have to sit alone and be stared at. It'd be -- it'd be too much for me to handle."

The boy seemed to shrink inward on himself for a moment at the very idea of it, his body becoming small and flinching like that of a threatened piece of prey, and yet Craig wasn't so sure. He had watched him face up to Eric Cartman and to himself, had seen him snap and snarl and scathe, and was quite convinced that despite his self-doubts, Tweek was brave enough to do anything.

"You could always sit with me," Craig offered, then as he recalled the mayhem he'd caused behind them he cleared his throat and gestured towards the corridor ahead, "But I guess for now the library does sound pretty good, do you mind if I tag along?"

Tweek grinned.

"Oh, I guess I don't mind as long as you behave yourself."

Craig scoffed, rolling his eyes but following him anyway.

"When have I  _ever_  not been well-behaved?"

"Don't make me answer that; it'd take  _years_  to outline all of your transgressions."

As the two of them headed off into the hallway beyond the cafeteria together, neither were aware of the watchful gazes laid heavy against their backs. If Craig hadn't made it a habit of his to never look back, he would have turned and seen Clyde, still dusting himself off after his time spent on the grubby floor, as well as Token and Jimmy from their table, all looking on perplexed as their friend amicably joined the reclusive blonde boy, whilst Cartman's beady eyes were narrowed in thought. He might have noticed how Wendy looked full of remorse, still pallid from the shock of a realisation she didn't know how to put into words, whilst Stan Marsh was privately coming to the same conclusion as his gaze locked onto the instantly familiar sweater that Tweek was wearing, one with a little yellow star knitted into the chest.

Yet he saw none of it, only the bright white of the golden boy's smile flashing like the glint of a knife in the dark.

He was going to take the blade to his chest one day; he just didn't know it yet.


	19. P.E stands for "Pathetic Exhibitionists"

_\- in which Craig Tucker scores with a boy -_

Later that week, the Juniors were still all buzzing about the list, although mostly in regards to where they themselves had ranked as opposed to Craig's lack of placement on it; they'd all either seen or heard of the violent outcome that came from bringing it up and had decided not to risk the bruises. Craig himself couldn't have cared less, having new things to worry about and too many confusing feelings about the subject to dwell on it any longer than it took to decide he clearly had to kiss Millie Larsen as soon as the opportunity presented itself, just in case he actually did like her after all.

The entire situation was pushed to the back of his mind as AV class proved to be more complicated than he'd thought it'd be, with barely enough students enrolled and way too much time for the teacher Mr Meryl to spend with each individual. Used to only ever being ignored or berated, Craig grit his teeth in silent anxiety every time the burly redheaded man came over to his table and began chatting to him as if he wasn't infamous amongst the school faculty for being unteachable.

With his steadily receding hairline and heavyset build, at an initial quick glance Mr Meryl was hauntingly similar to the boy's father, and he found himself jolting as if to tear out of his own skin every time he found the man dipping into the corner of his vision. It was a mixture of dry-mouthed terror and delight, of a loathsome yearning that sickened him with the childish need of it all; he was a kid who missed his dad, even while wishing he never saw him again.

"So Craig, why the sudden interest in film?" Mr Meryl had asked the first lesson, leaning against the empty desk in front of him.

_I want to find something in the present that's worth keeping later in a box of labelled memories._

He didn't say it, only shrugged.

"What sort of video do you want to make for your final project? You're late to the class, so it's going to count for most of your grade," Mr Meryl continued, slightly disgruntled by the lack of response.

_I want to make something worth lying on the couch every afternoon with Tricia and watching repeats of over and over._

Craig shrugged again.

"You're a man of few words I see," Mr Meryl mused wryly, crinkling his wiry brows at him, "Well, until you know what you want to film, film everything; your friends, family, just your everyday life. Perhaps when you review the footage you'll find something inspiring."

Despite having to resist rolling his eyes at the time, Craig took the advice to heart, and for the rest of the week had carried the camcorder everywhere. It came with him to the breakfast table, was zipped safely inside his school bag on the bus and brought out sometimes at school. Mostly he filmed things in the afternoon, pestering Tweek with his eye up to the lens as they walked from the bus stop to his house to study.

"Am I supposed to act or something??" The blonde boy fretted, gesticulating wildly towards the camera with his red raw hands.

"No."

"Then what?? This is so much pressure, man."

Craig kicked road-dirtied snow at him in response to the histrionics, causing Tweek to first gasp in betrayal and then immediately crouch down to start compacting a large snowball in revenge. Watching through the viewfinder as the other boy's palms turned pink from the cold, Craig felt his breath hitch at the beauty of the shot; the pure white of the snow being scraped by the blush of Tweek's fingers, the bright gold of his hair catching the afternoon light across the crown of his head until the moment that he looked up, all shadows beneath amber eyes and a grin spreading across the pale diamond of his face as he realised Craig had no hope to escape the missile he'd constructed.

"You ready to die, Craig Tucker?" He threatened, the words becoming laughter halfway through.

Too late the boy stopped recording and turned to run, long legs graceless beneath him, and yet the flush that had flared the length of his body burned so bright that when the snowball hit he didn't think it felt so bad after all. Ice collapsing into chills down the back of his shirt and along his spine, then the two of them chasing each other inside to watch _Star Trek_ with Tricia.

Their truce becoming a half-formed friendship was too strange to try to rationalise, too surreal to even contemplate, and so Craig quickly decided it was easier to cast his questions into the insatiably empty space within him than to ask them. The answers were in there somewhere too, if he'd only had the courage to look.

His friends' multiple queries after the cafeteria incident were a different story however, all three of them demanding to know when his and Stan's follow up fistfight was going to be, as well as Jimmy and Token asking why in the world he had run off during the chaos to go talk to _Tweek Tweak_ of all people. Craig avoided answering them as best he could, giving Clyde silencing glares every time he looked like he was about to speak up about his knowledge of the enforced tutorship between the two of them.

A secret split between three was bad enough, but between five? He couldn't risk it.

"You have to tell them sometime, dude, they're your best friends," Clyde warned him that Friday afternoon, stretching his leg the way their PE teacher was demonstrating. Wobbling with lack of grace, he tried to give Craig a meaningful look, but only managed to overbalance and stumble out of line.

"Careful Donovan, if you make impact with the Earth there'll be a shockwave like the one that wiped out the dinosaurs," Kenny sniggered from a few meters away.

"None of us would survive the fallout," Stan added sagely, bending into a lunge.

His shorts were too tight on him, Craig noticed idly, tilting his head to follow the progression of the material tightening across the other boy's thighs. Despite being weak in the face of his vices, the toned muscle that Stan still retained kept up the facade of a infallible kind of strength that Craig could only dream of. Looking down at his own lanky legs sticking out from his PE uniform, he couldn't help but bitterly wish that they could swap bodies; the wild dog traded in for the Doberman, if only just for a day.

"How can you be calling _me_ fat? You're friends with _Cartman_ ," Clyde was whining when Craig tuned back in to the altercation at hand, the stout boy's face beginning to go blotchy in a telltale sign that he was on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, but Cartman isn't here right now, so you're therefore the fattest," Stan explained in that irritatingly reasonable way of his, straightening up from his second lunge and catching Craig staring.

He quirked a brow. Craig scowled.

"As if that makes any sense, Marsh," He snapped, stepping between a teary Clyde and his tormentors in a movement fuelled with unspoken threat.

"Boys, enough!" Coach Turner snarled, pointing one meaty finger towards the football field ahead of them and commanding, "We're done warming up! Pick teams and get your asses out there!"

Their PE teacher's bark of authority immediately ended the heated stare-off between the four of them, with Stan and Kenny grabbing for each other in a clear indication of being on the same team whilst Clyde flung up his hand excitedly.

"I call team captain for the _South Park Cows_!" He called, gleefully claiming the school's football team name as his own.

Kenny shot him a filthy look.

"Then we're the _Denver Broncos_ ," Stan countered, earning him self a chorus of approval from the other boys.

The testosterone in the air was palpable, the split of the usually coed student body for their PE and health classes coming at the benefit of the girls and the detriment of everyone else; male and teacher alike. Coach Turner's ruddy complexion was roped with throbbing stress-veins as he blew his whistle for what seemed the hundredth time that hour alone.

"Your team names DON'T MATTER! PICK TEAMMATES NOW OR YOU'LL BE DOING LAPS ALL LESSON!" He roared, spittle spraying with the force of the words.

What didn't help with their levels of distraction was the fact that Bebe Stevens was sitting up in the bleachers with the rest of the cheer squad, watching them all sneak glances at her. Clyde was included in this tactless gawking, his rosy mouth pulled into a pout of pure longing that had even Craig feel a twinge of heartbreak for him.

Stan was completely unbothered by the presence of the girls it seemed, quickly calling out the names of the other members of the football team that were in their class and securing himself a formidable posse. By the time Clyde could drag his eyes away from his ex-girlfriend, Stan only had room for one more teammate to pick, which he did so with a sly grin.

"I choose Craig," he announced, beckoning the stupefied boy in question with a self-assured wave of his hand.

Clyde was red in the face as he began to blurt out, "What the —"

"— _fuck_?" Kenny finished for him, looking genuinely flabbergasted for the first time in Craig's memory.

He himself was only slightly bemused, giving Stan a long flat look before crossing over to stand with his team. Choosing a spot a little way off from the main group, he was uncomfortably aware of Clyde giving him a miserable look from where he'd been left with a posse formed of every non-desirable in their entire PE class.

"You can't have Craig, he's _my_ friend," the boy whined, and earned himself a withering look from Coach Turner.

High above them, Wendy and Bebe watched on, their green and white cheerleading skirts fluttering in the breeze. Craig could feel their gazes like the prickle of insect legs across his skin, and his jaw clenched as the feeling of static began to hum within him.  
               Ever since the cafeteria incident, he had caught Wendy watching him more and more; her doe-like eyes narrowed as she scrutinised his every movement when they passed each other in the hallway or whilst he tried his best to pay attention in what few classes they shared. It felt like weights in the pit of his stomach, it tasted of fear painting itself sour across the back of his tongue, and yet he didn't know what exactly he was so afraid of. Surely not her judgement? Surely not some other childish prank like that of the list?

_I just don't like her watching. It feels like she's waiting for something._

"Not to agree with _Number #28_ over there, but c'mon dude, Craig can't even tackle people without turning it into a fistfight," Kenny reasoned, crossing his arms indignantly.

Stan merely shrugged, the same wry smirk still pulling at the corners of his mouth. It seemed to Craig that the other boy was silently laughing at some wonderful joke that only he knew the punchline to, and he felt the beginnings of a frown spread tension across his face as he realised he was completely in the dark as to what it could be.

"Wait, why am I number twenty-something...?" Clyde interjected, his brow rumpled in confusion.

"Twenty- _eight_ ," Kenny corrected, the gap in his teeth flashing as he grinned wide, "Because that's where Bebe ranked you on the list, Donovan. The list where I was ranked _#2_ , by the way."

Craig winced as his friend pouted and shot a shiny-eyed look of reproach towards where the girl in question was in deep discussion with Heidi and Wendy up on the bleachers. It was a low-blow, but unfortunately couldn't be denied; Clyde had scored badly, and since he'd only ever dated Bebe, it was painfully clear that she hadn't been a fan of their make-outs over the years.

"ARE WE DONE GOSSIPING?" Coach Turner bellowed, the cords in his neck standing out like thick serpents beneath the skin, "OR SHOULD I SIGN YOU ALL UP FOR HOME EC SINCE YOU'RE SO HELLBENT ON BEHAVING LIKE A BUNCH OF _GIRLY FAGGOTS??"_

Every boy in the class snapped to attention at the use of the slur, hurrying to get out to the centreline of the football field as if homosexuality were a contagious beast nipping at their heels. Craig was among them, following along behind Stan as they got in position. Beneath his tattered sneakers, each blade of grass was a frosted spike of dark green trying to survive the chill, and the boy watched with detachment as he ground his foot against them until they were pressed bruised and broken against the frozen earth.

"You ready, Tucker?" Stan asked under his breath as he handed him the scuffed football, readying himself behind him for the hand-off.

"I don't know."

The other boy snorted derisively, then dissolved into his now-familiar ugly laughter as Craig flipped him the bird over his shoulder in response. Feeling a small twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, Craig almost allowed himself to enjoy the moment, to relish in the strangeness of being for the first time in his life on Stanley Marsh's team.

Perhaps, just like with Tweek, in another version of the world things had gone differently and they had grown up as friends instead of enemies. Yet, as Craig turned to watch Kenny miming Clyde crying over Bebe for the amusement of Fosse and Bill, he decided not being friends with Stan's gang really was no real loss after all.

Coach Turner blew the whistle, and Craig passed the ball backwards for Stan to catch, sprinting off after him as they advanced towards the opposition. Whilst he was in motion, he needed no thoughts, no internal monologue or worries, just him and the sound of his blood beating in his ears.

There was no grace to him; everything too-long legs and pointy elbows bent out from his body like wings. The force of his feet striking the ground sent shudders up his shins, rucking up grass, dirt and frost with every footfall, and he grimaced at the sensation of the wetness of it flecking his bare legs. Up ahead, Stan scored a touchdown easily, turning around with a lazy grin as Kenny barrelled into him for a victorious friendly tackle.

"Pick up your game, Donovan!" The gap-toothed boy crowed, clumsily hoisting up Stan as if he were a trophy of some sort.

Clyde had come to a stop and was gasping for air at Craig's side, leaning down with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. At the sound of Kenny's jibe he pouted, straightening up to shoot a glare across the space between them.

"If he doesn't quit paying out on me..." He muttered sullenly.

"You'll do _what_ exactly?" Craig scoffed, reaching out to muss his hair with a fond movement of his hand.

"I'll... punch his remaining teeth out," Clyde offered weakly, batting away the hand and dissolving into sheepish laughter when Craig gave him a doubtful look, "Okay probably not. It's more likely I'll start crying."

Sniggering to themselves over Clyde's self-aware status as a crybaby, the two of them returned to their opposing sides as play continued, Coach Turner bellowing pointers from the sidelines. Competition thickly clouded the air, carrying the scent of sweat like a perfume each of them had bathed in until Craig was sure he would never take a fresh breath again.

It was only towards the end of the lesson that he saw him, his blonde hair catching the light in a flicker of gold usually reserved for the stars. The ball had just been passed to him, the smack of it landing against his palms still stinging as he stopped dead in his tracks take a second look.

There he was, sitting on the front row of bleachers with a book open in his lap and both hands wrapped around the warmth of his thermos. Bouncing his knees in anxious habit, the boy had finally given in to Craig's insistence on dressing for the weather, and the dusky green field jacket he wore swamped his small frame.

Tweek.

Craig barely had time to register the surge of warmth that lit up from the centre of his chest at the sight of the other boy before he was blindsided, Clyde slamming into him in a high-speed tackle that knocked the air from his lungs. The two of them went down in a tangled heap, Craig letting out a grunt of pained surprise before growling under his breath as he pushed his weighty friend off.

"Get distracted did you?" Kenny jeered as Craig stood with a wince, waiting for his pass just a few meters away.

Craig kept his face entirely blank as he flipped him off in response, tossing the ball his way to begin play once more before loping over to where Tweek was sitting, hoping that his gait looked more like a swagger than a limp. He called out as he approached, the cheerleaders and PE class ceasing to exist as his awareness of the world shrank to just that single individual studying alone on the bleachers.

"It was sweet of you come to watch me work out," He teased in a drawling deadpan, smirking when Tweek looked up to give him a sour look.

"You call that working out? You run like a baby deer," the boy fired back, gesturing to the gangly legs that poked out from Craig's PE shorts and adding, "Those are too long for your body."

The smirk faded, replaced by a view of both middle fingers.

"I'm kidding!" Tweek rushed to placate him, grinning wide and bright as he explained, "We have our free period next, so I just -- I just thought I'd come meet you so we can walk to the library together."

"Oh."

Taken aback, Craig found his cheeks beginning to burn as he realised Tweek's actions truly _were_ sweet, and for lack of knowing what to say he merely blinked slowly, swallowing against the sudden thickness of his own throat. The other boy seemed unruffled, dog-earing the page in his history textbook and peering around Craig's towering form to squint at something behind him.

"Stan Marsh is staring at us," He commented idly, amber eyes glinting with mischief, "Should we wave?"

Jolting back to reality and remembering that the rest of the world existed, Craig shook his head vigorously, inciting a wheezing laugh from Tweek. Refusing to look over his shoulder to see whether or not Stan truly was staring, he instead took a step back, knowing it was only a matter of time before his teacher saw he'd abandoned the field.

"He's probably just wondering why I'm not helping our team thrash Clyde's," He dismissed, the dry tone of his voice at odds with the prickle of unease that had started up beneath the confines of his skin. For reasons that were mostly beyond him, he didn't want the other boy to think he was in any way on friendly terms with one of the individuals that had been behind the homophobic act of tying Butters to the flag pole the month before.

"He -- he chose to be on a team with you? Interesting," Tweek remarked, cocking his head to the side in a birdlike manner that made Craig feel even more scrutinised than before.

_I just don't want him thinking that I would condone people doing that to someone just because they might be gay. I could always explain that Stan most likely did it to throw suspicion off himself, but then that'd be an unforgivable betrayal of trust..._

"Yeah, I think he thought I was good at football or something," He joked weakly in an attempt to hide his inner turmoil, clearing his throat before offering, "Do you want to come play for a bit? I think Clyde's team needs some help."

" _Me_? Do PE? You're kidding right?" Tweek scoffed, wrinkling his nose up as if the very idea offended him.

Craig frowned.

"What's wrong with PE?"

"Other than the fact I'm pretty sure it stands for 'Pathetic Exhibitionists'?" the gold-haired boy shot back, and to Craig's surprise he found himself laughing in genuine delight at the observation.

" _'Pathetic Exhibitionists'_? God Tweek, what a line," He teased between gasps, shaking his head as he grabbed Tweek's wrist and pulled him onto his feet, "Come on, let's go."

Despite loudly protesting and digging his heels in intermittently as Craig dragged him back out onto the field with him, Tweek was soon standing grumbling with Clyde's team as the boys prepared for the next hand-off. Standing in defence of their team line, Craig watched with protective care from afar as Clyde dictated some part of the game plan to the twitchy newcomer and then patted him vigorously on the shoulder.

_Maybe this was a mistake? Clyde better be being nice to him..._

The worry was justified, but was for all the wrong reasons it seemed as his friend readied himself with the ball, Tweek nervously moving into position behind him to act as the receiver. Off to Craig's left, Kenny's snigger of violent anticipation sent an icy chill down his spine. Lips parting in surprise, he barely had time to contend with the idea that Clyde had placed Tweek directly in the line of fire before Coach Turner was blowing his whistle in a shrill squeal that split the air.

_Fuck. Kenny is going to crush him when he tackles him._

The football was leaving Clyde's hands in a brick-red blur as Craig felt his legs move; instinct taking over and an acidic burst of adrenaline spiking his bloodstream. The taste of his heart beating on his tongue and the rush in his ears was all he knew, his gaze on the ball landing square to Tweek's chest and the other boy's hands catching around it to seal his fate.

_Run, run, RUN!_

As if able to hear Craig's panicked thoughts, the blonde boy shot off like a bullet, dashing past Kenny even as the other boy dove for him. Misstepping with surprise, Craig gave chase, the heaviness of his limbs keeping him earthbound whilst Tweek's leaping gait made him look as if he were about to take flight.

_If I just keep my distance but look like I'm going to take the tackle, my teammates hopefully won't try to --_

His train of thought crash-landed in horror as he saw Stan hurtling towards Tweek from out ahead, arms already open in readiness to bring the blonde boy's dash for the goal line to an abrupt stop. Panic setting his legs alight, Craig moved into a sprint, closing the distance between them with all sense of self-preservation left behind.

Yet no tackle was made. No bone-crushing end came to Tweek's agile streak across the football field, for instead Craig Tucker did something that looked so bizarre to the watching players that many of them stumbled to a stop on the frost-covered grass; he scooped up the gold-haired boy into his arms as if he weighed no more than a sack of flour, never breaking stride as he ran at a curve away from Stan.

" _GAH!_ CRAIG, WHAT THE _FUCK!_ " Tweek shrieked furiously, still clinging to the ball in a white-knuckled death grip as he suddenly found himself being carried like a rag doll against the sweaty boy's chest.

_Fuck he's heavy._

Straining against the burn in his muscles, the panic subsided beneath a flush of endorphins as Craig did the only thing that could make his actions make sense; he ran with his cargo of both ball and boy towards the opposition's goal line, earning laughter and cheers from his flabbergasted teammates whilst Clyde broke out of his shocked trance to start yelling.

"Pass the ball, Tweek! DROP THE BALL! DO _SOMETHING_!"

Wriggling against Craig's chest, Tweek had begun laughing wheezily at the ridiculousness of the scene, trying to break out of the vicelike grip that held him even as he was carried over the goal-line amid the cacophony of cheers and shouts of disbelief, the repeated blowing of Coach Turner's whistle becoming a tuneless victory song.  
                The twisting and turning of his body was a series of snakelike movements against Craig's hands, feeling the echoes of muscles rippling beneath the barrier of his clothing before he was slipping from them. There was a fumbling attempt to catch him, then Tweek's legs were amongst his own and they were falling together with no more chances for escape from the inevitable bruising that would come next.

The frost across the grass and the two of them rolling over it in a tumble of limbs and laughter, Craig feeling his teeth clicking together somewhere near Tweek's throat like he might have bitten into it given half the chance.

Tweek Tweak was the sort of boy whose blood surely would have tasted like sugar; Craig could almost remember the sweetness.  
  


——————————————————  
  


"I want to show you something."

He didn't know why he suddenly blurted it out, sitting with his long legs drawn up to his chest on the sofa that afternoon. The end credits for that day's _Star Trek_ rerun were flickering in a seemingly endless scroll down the screen, and the sleepy afternoon light that filtered in through the window had been pierced bloody until only the dusky red of sunset remained. Beside him Tweek was fidgeting, his ceaseless movement something that no longer bothered Craig as much as it once had.

"Oh, what -- ah, what is it?" The gold-haired boy asked shyly, looking up through his lashes in that way that always left Craig feeling slightly out of breath.

"Come with me."

It was without any hesitation that Tweek followed him up the stairs, the two of them only a step apart and Craig beginning to feel the electric current of nervousness tingle along his limbs. It wasn't unlike the overwhelming thrill he'd felt when he had first led the other boy up to the second storey of his house, almost two weeks ago, except the sensation seemed so much less terrifying now.  
                Tweek was different too, he realised as they made their way down the hall; less sluggish in his movements, with his amber eyes clear and open as they darted around curiously for some clue as to what he was about to be shown. A twinge of shame pulsed somewhere in the back of Craig's skull as he recalled how irritated he'd been waiting for Tweek to climb the stairs up to his room that very first time, unable to empathise enough to realise that the boy's sleepy demeanour had been from over-dosing on anxiety medication to try and remain calm around his antagonistic self.

_I'm glad he doesn't feel the need to take so much now._

Reaching the end of the hallway, the surface of the varnished timber door to his father's study was cool to the touch as he pressed his palm against it, exhaling a long breath before pushing inwards. There was a creak of tired hinges, then the shadowy room beyond revealed itself to them like the discovery of a tomb.

"This is — _was_ my dad's study," Craig murmured, flicking on the light switch and stepping quietly inside.

He could hear Tweek entering behind him as he crossed the small room to stand at the turntable, his star drawing still pristine in the dust on the glass cover. Avoiding looking at the other boy, he used his sleeve to wipe it clean before lifting the lid to reveal the needle and turnstile beneath.

"I had no idea you had this many records," Tweek whispered, the odd hush of the long-undisturbed room casting an air of reverence over the both of them.

"They're my dad's, he left them here."

_Just like he left me._

"Are we going to listen to one?" The golden boy asked, the rasp of his voice a sudden caress close by Craig's ear.

He turned slowly, finding Tweek standing close, close enough for him to have to dip his head to look at the pale oval of his face. He was so near that Craig could have counted every freckle across the tops of his cheeks, could have traced imaginary lines between them to map out the constellations he could see there.

A nauseating anxiety flared up within him, hot and bright as he stepped quickly backwards. Heart beating at a staccato, he averted his gaze to the shelves of records that lined the walls, shrugging in the presence of nonchalance.

"I don't know. Sure."

When he finally dared meet Tweek's gaze again the other boy was quirking a single dark blonde  brow, his face betraying a question he didn't speak. Craig offered him a slight curve of his lips, teeth carefully hidden from view, before gesturing to the vinyl in wordless invitation.

With his hands stroking over the spines of the LPs, Tweek silently read through the titles on the nearest shelf, his gaze flicking back and forth. After what seemed like an age, yet only was actually a minute, he turned back empty-handed to face Craig.

"Can you pick one?" Tweek asked quietly, and after his silent companion nodded he added, "But it's got to be a good one. Your — your favourite one."

The directive stumped Craig, causing him to flounder for a few moments of shy introspection before he realised there was only one record that fit the criteria he'd been given. With a nervous flutter in his stomach, he pulled it out from its place on the shelves, tenderly brushing his fingertips across the cover before holding it up for the other boy to see.

" _The Beach Boys_? Now who's the corny one, Craig?" Tweek teased lightly, nudging him playfully with his elbow before agreeing, "Let's have a listen then."

It meant everything and nothing at all putting the record on to spin, laying the needle down tender against the outer edge of the black disc and listening to the delicious crackle of it finding the first groove. Thousands of memories of the times he had heard that same sound before echoed within Craig's mind, conjuring up the image of his father's violent hands becoming soft as they handled the records and leaving him with a lump in his throat he couldn't quite swallow.

_Enough. Enough now._

He sat down on the edge of the desk, listening to the first few chords play, and when Tweek sat beside him he didn't shy away from the hand that came to rest just a breath away from his own. The strange jingle of notes played out, hauntingly melancholy and joyous all at once, before the singer asked their famous questions, the ones that broke Craig's heart before making it whole again.

_"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older_  
_Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?_  
_And wouldn't it be nice to live together_  
_In the kind of world where we belong?"_

Turning to Tweek with the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he went to speak but found that all the things he wanted to say felt lodged in his throat. The words were swollen with emotion, with gratitude, forming a story about a boy who had discovered the song on the verge of giving up, and how when he'd next listened to it he had been given enough hope for the future by Tweek that the lyrics had suddenly made sense to him.

_"Happy times together we've been spending_  
_I wish that every kiss was never ending_  
_Oh, wouldn't it be nice?"_

It was a gift he could never repay or explain, and so he did neither, instead sliding his gaze away and over to where the record spun around and around in its glass box. Slowly it would spiral towards the inescapable destination of its centre; it was written in its bones, its marrow.

_What's at the centre of me? Emptiness? A bottomless pit? A black hole that greedily sucks away the light?_

Surely something. Surely, surely there had to be something.

"So is this your favourite song then?" Tweek asked after the final chords played out, nudging his shoulder against Craig's, "'Wouldn't it Be Nice' by _The Beach Boys_?"

"Yeah," he mumbled in reply, feeling the heat begin to rise to his cheeks.

Tweek smiled fondly, sighing out a warm rasp of breath that felt like it filled the once-tomblike space with new energy, thick and heady in the air. When he replied the words were honeyed as they came off his tongue, almost in a whisper, or the ghost of a laugh.

"You're a wonder, Craig Tucker, you truly are."


	20. To the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short and episodic, with things happening in small vignettes between the characters instead of the usual style. I hope no one minds too much! This was just how I wanted to tell this string of interactions in the story without laboriously having to describe time passing

_\- in which the way forward seems suddenly clear -_

The blonde was slow-dancing himself around the room in lazy circles, a waltz with dust motes only still half lit by the steadily growing twilight that washed in through the window. Shuffling feet and a rasping laugh, he kept singing the chorus off-key along to the song that was playing on the turntable, seemingly just to make Craig smile.

_"If you should ever leave me_   
_Though life would still go on, believe me_   
_The world could show nothing to me_   
_So what good would living do me_   
_God only knows what I'd be without you"_

He didn't appear to mind that even if he managed to make him laugh then the laugh would be on him; just like that time in the dark with Craig's sweater sleeves hanging over his hands. The only difference was this time he didn't dare ask the other boy to dance, no matter how much Craig found himself wishing he would.

"I can't believe you think this song is better than 'Wouldn't it Be Nice'," He huffed from his perch on the desktop, trying to sound scornful even as the curve of his mouth betrayed his true feelings.

"'God Only Knows' is a timeless love song. It was even in _Love Actually_ ," Tweek argued easily, his grin bright as he stopped in front of him, standing almost directly between the spread of his legs, "Whereas 'Wouldn't it Be Nice' is a naive ball of cheese."

Craig shoved a view of his middle finger right up to his face, so close that Tweek's eyes had to cross to keep it in view.

" _You're_ a ball of cheese."

"Oh wow, nice comeback, Craig."

Outside the door, having come up to tell them dinner was ready, Laura Tucker paused with her knuckles raised to knock against the varnished wood, the sound of a record playing from inside a nostalgia she'd convinced herself she hadn't missed. Yet there it was, along with memories of a hundred good days and bad, too interwoven with grey to know which had truly been which anymore.

She liked the boy that Tweek Tweak had grown up into, who, despite his various nervous tics and eccentricities, had somehow quickly become positive fixture in her son's life. Craig smiled more often when the odd boy was around, and had been growing more and more talkative in general since that first night he had shown up at their house. After so long silently worrying that her son was becoming withdrawn from the world, seeing him seeming so genuinely happy lately had been an unexpected gift she hadn't dared wish for.

With a soft smile she retreated back to the top of the stairs, calling out from a safe distance so as to not intrude on the two of them.

"Craig and Tweek! Dinner's ready, my sweethearts!"

 

——————————————————

 

It was the beginning of March before Craig settled on an idea for his AV project, much to the relief of his friends and family who he'd been filming sporadically over the three weeks that had passed since first being given the task. No one was quite so happy that he'd finally found some inspiration as Tweek however, who had been fretting about how much of Craig's grade was now resting on the project after he'd only just scraped by with a pass on his math quiz and History essay.

"Well, it's about time," Tweek grumbled when Craig told him the news, shooting him a reproachful look from the desk beside him, "I've been so stressed you wouldn't start it in time that I'm pretty sure my hair has started falling out."

Pretending to study the blonde tufts that stuck up like a crown atop the boy's head, Craig replied in a dry monotone, "It definitely has. I can count four bald spots from here."

There was a small shriek of panic before Tweek caught sight of his smirk and reached over with a growl to knock the hat off his head.

"That's it, I'm pulling those two cowlicks out!" The blonde announced, wriggling to try and escape free when Craig grabbed his wrists in a vicelike grip in response.

"With what hands, Tweek?" He teased, before yelping with surprise when the boy broke free and grabbed for the thick dark locks atop his head.

"These ones, asshole!"

Hands catching in Craig's hair, Tweek tugged far more gently than had been anticipated, teeth still bared like a wild animal and amber eyes dilated until they seemed almost wholly black. Craig winced as the root of each strand burned dully against his scalp, inhaling sharply through an instinctively clenched jaw.   
               It felt like the kind of thing that should have been followed by something heated, something to expel the flush of fire that was blazing through his bloodstream. It felt like the precursor to heaven through the gates of hell.

Something for the Numbness to eat.

"Get off me you freak," He snapped, but the memory of the sensation of his hands fisted in his hair stayed with him for far longer than it took to irritably shake Tweek off.

"Next time I'm taking some as a souvenir," the blonde boy teased, before clueing in to Craig's agitated temper and asking seriously "So, ah, what's this project idea?"

The idea revolved around the people he shared his life with, and a question he had to ask them. It had come to him one night in the shower, recalling the near-death-experience he and Stan had shared out by the lake, and the project had slowly bloomed outwards from there.  
                  In his head it was going to be a pastiche of varied answers intercut with footage of the candid moments he'd captured so far, as well as shots of the moon and stars from his window. He knew it didn't sound very good in words, so he refrained from explaining it to anyone except to say it involved interviews.

The first people he asked were his mom and sister, sitting at the breakfast table with his elbows propped up so as to hold the camcorder steady. A fresh tape was inside, and he'd centred the two of them in the viewfinder; Tricia directly in front of him with a mountainous bowl of cereal, then their mom a little to her right, eating a piece of buttery toast over the sink.

"What do you think happens when we die?"

Tricia made a scoffing sound against her spoon, whilst Laura turned to give him a perplexed look.

"That's a bit morbid, Munchkin," she laughed, leaning back against the bench as she studied him for a moment longer before answering, "I suppose I'm meant to tell you we go to Heaven if we've lived sinless lives. That's what your father would want me to tell you anyway, the devout Catholic that he is."

At the mention of his dad, Craig winced, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the tightness of his own skin. Swallowing thickly past the sensation, he sounded hoarse when he spoke.

"Yeah, but what do _you_ think?"

She paused, and in the brief hush that fell over the room Tricia sat up to say her piece, pointing her spoon towards the camera.

"We get reborn as something new, obviously," the girl told them matter-of-factly, "In my next life I'm going to be a boy; they get away with everything. Meanwhile, you'll be coming back as a goblin, Craig."

Their mom cracked up laughing in the background as Craig scowled spectacularly from behind the viewfinder.

"Goblins aren't real, you pest," He snapped peevishly, the two women snickering with amusement at his easily ruffled feathers.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I don't think you get to reincarnate unless you're a Buddhist," Laura placated him, still smiling as she dusted off her hands into the sink, "But it sounds lovely doesn't it? I'd want to come back as a tree I think. A lovely big old Fir."

"Someone will cut you down for a Christmas tree," Craig warned her, but his mom only laughed again, all light and warm in the sleepy morning air.

"All the better then, darling; there's nothing quite so radiant as something strung up in twinkling lights."

 

——————————————————

 

He asked Stan a few days later, his feet braced up against the dashboard of the pickup truck and his teeth blue from the _7/11_ slushy the other boy had bought him. Through the viewfinder he caught the perfect first moment where Stan laughed at the question, his snorting high-pitched giggle bursting from between wryly curved lips as he took his eyes off the road to give Craig a fond look.

"Look, I like you dude, but you're really fucking weird. You know that right?"

If anyone else had said it, Craig would have wasted no time in reaching over and smacking the affectionate smirk off their face, but it wasn't anyone, it was Stan. Stan Marsh, who drunkenly messaged him facts about the animals in the nature documentaries he was watching late at night, and who had lately been absent more and more often from school; too depressed it seemed to even so much as pull himself from bed. Stan, who had asked him if he wanted to hang out that morning and hadn't mentioned even once the fact that Heidi had posted a picture to Facebook of her and Kyle snuggling together in bed twenty minutes beforehand.

He didn't need to say it; Craig could see it in his eyes, in the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel. There was a hollow space in him too, a silhouette that would not be filled, and although neither of them could step in to save one another, it felt good to have a friend to walk with through the dark. A lifeline, like a pair of hands reaching down into the frigid waters of a frozen lake, with which they might stave off the inevitable; that Stan Marsh was sinking, and with the indomitable Tweek Tweak holding on tight to keep Craig above the waterline, soon even he wouldn't be able to reach him.

"Just answer the question, Marsh."

The road crackled with salt beneath the pickup's tyres as Stan guided it through the streets, driving aimlessly yet somehow always ending up back outside his and Kyle's houses, sitting side by side in shades of green. It was there that he finally pulled into the kerb, letting the engine idle as he turned to face the other boy with such terrifying sadness in his eyes that for a moment all Craig could hear was his own cowardly instincts screaming to stop him, to not let him speak.

"What happens when we die? It's simple, Tucker," Stan said roughly, a darkly-humoured grin pulling across his face, "We go cold and rot into the ground alone, and everyone else goes on with their day."

 

——————————————————

 

The ducks waddling along the edge of the thawing Stark's Pond took flight in a series of panicked quacks and flurried feathers as Clyde ran at them, his arms out like the wings of a plane. Through the lens of the camcorder, their wingspan looked almost too soft to carry them aloft as they glided away over the ice floes, leaving Clyde stomping his feet childlike on the safety of the pebbled shore.

When he finally turned around to face Craig and his camera, he flashed a sheepish grin.

"I don't get why you didn't wanna come here, dude," Clyde called, gesturing to the lake and it's surrounds with vague, waving hands, "Remember when we used to ice-skate out here?"

The memory of Stan thrashing in the inky waters of the pond flickered like strobe through Craig's mind, and he had to suppress a shudder before nodding. His heart twisted at the knowledge he'd never look fondly towards the murky body of water again, no matter how many nostalgic childhood moments he was prompted to recall.

"Yeah... Maybe just come up a bit closer?" He suggested, forcing his tone to be light even whilst he ignored the unspoken end to the sentence.

_Just a bit further away from the water... to where it's safe._

"Huh? Oh okay," Clyde conceded amicably, waddling up the shore much like one of the ducks he'd been chasing earlier, "So what's all this about then?"

"I'm filming you? For my AV class project?" Craig reminded him, feeling irritation briefly colour his words at having to explain for the fifth time the reasoning for him having dragged Clyde out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

To his surprise, his friend's eyebrows knitted together in concern at the information, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as if suddenly unsure of what to say. The reaction left a sour taste brimming in his mouth, and Craig had to resist the urge to clench his hands to fists at the endlessly sinking feeling that began in the hollow pit of his stomach.

"If you don't want to be in it, just say," He told him in a voice dull with hidden disappointment, the camera lowering from his face.

"Of course I wanna be in your movie, dude," Clyde rushed to placate him, before the boy's expression twisted into one of conflict as he continued, "I just... well... are you going to ask Jimmy and Token too? They've been feeling neglected lately."

"That's ridiculous —" Craig began to protest, before he was cut off.

"To be completely honest, dude, so I have I. You're barely around anymore. You never want to hang with us," Clyde accused, his eyes growing shiny with emotion.

_Is he kidding? They were the ones who were always ignoring_ **_me_ ** _; always playing xbox all weekend when they knew I couldn't join in and never once thinking about how alienating it was for me. Now I hang out with Tweek or Stan most of the time and they're suddenly jealous?? Fuck that._

"Okay," was all he said however, keeping his face entirely blank as he held the camera up to his eye, "Can we film this now?"

Clyde sighed, "Go ahead."

"What do you think happens when we die?"

No sooner had the question been asked before the boy's teary eyes went suddenly dry with shock, blinking quickly as he stared at Craig like he'd just told him he'd murdered someone. When he didn't elaborate, Clyde's expression creased with worry, his hands balling up into nervous fists that were placed in his jacket pockets.

"Are you okay, dude?" Clyde asked carefully, brown eyes scanning him as if to find a fault line, a crack, some kind of clue, as to what was wrong with him.

Taken aback by the questioning, Craig let the camera lower from his eye, his gaze casting around as if to find the appropriate answer written out on cue cards somewhere. There were none to see, just snow and pebbles jumbled together with the debris washed up from the lake, and so he unwillingly dragged his gaze back to his concerned friend, shifting with discomfort at the scrutiny.

It wasn't that he didn't know the answer, that wasn't the problem. More or less, he felt fine, and had been feeling fine for a few weeks. The uneasiness that prickled through him at Clyde's question however was due to the fact that he _hadn't_ been okay, that he hadn't been even in the realm of "okay" since even before his dad had left, and none of his friends had ever seemed to have truly noticed.

_Tweek did. Tweek saw it straight away._

Faced with the entirety of it all cupped delicate in the palms of his hands, he couldn't help but wonder why it was that someone who hated him so vehemently could have seen what those closest to him couldn't.

_Something to ask him about later._

"Don't worry, Clyde, I'm alright," He sighed, lifting the camcorder back up to obscure his face and gesturing for his friend to continue with the task at hand before repeating, "What do you think happens when we die?"

The boy across from him paused to think for a moment, his large brown eyes narrowing slightly in earnest effort. Craig watched him with an achingly tired kind of affection, the kind that comes from knowing someone a lifetime and yet no longer being sure it was going to be enough to hold things together whilst they did their best to fall apart. The sensation tasted like ash in his mouth, dry across a tongue so parched it didn't know how to reply when Clyde finally answered, all unsure and bashful in the morning air.

"I think you go to where all the people you love are, both alive and dead. Like, all of their spirits are in a big room waiting for you as if it's a surprise birthday party, and you get to hang out with them forever."

The two of them were silent for a moment, before Craig pressed the button to stop recording and lowered the camera to his side. With a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth, he reached over and lovingly ruffled Clyde's hair, too scared to hug him the way he wanted to.

"That's really... really nice, dude," He murmured, looking out across the shimmering surface of Stark's Pond as he asked, "What's the big waiting room called do you reckon?"

Following his best friend's gaze, Clyde slung an arm around his waist and squeezed in a lazy embrace, both boys side by side as all around them winter began to draw to an end.

"Heaven, I think."

 

——————————————————

 

"So when are you gonna ask me?"

The question was a soft rasp in the dark, the edges of the words sweetened by the shy smile Craig could hear in Tweek's voice, even before he turned around.

Flicking his gaze from the view of Julia Roberts apologising to the bumbling fool of a leading man, Hugh Grant, that was playing on the Tucker family's television, he turned his attention to the boy beside him. There was the nervous smile, the lowered lashes that brushed the tops of slightly flushed cheeks before Tweek finally met his eye.

"You want to be in my video?" Craig asked slowly, feeling something flutter in his chest, like a tiny bird coming down to nestle there.

"Yeah, ah — if you want me," the gold-haired boy stammered, his face contorting briefly in an anxious spasm until their eyes met again and he seemed to exhale the tension from his body.

_"And don't forget... I'm also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her,"_ Julia Roberts said onscreen, but Craig could barely hear her as he reached out to pull Tweek's fingers from where they'd begun to tug on a blonde tuft of hair.

"I do."

The boy's hand was feverishly hot in his own, the skin rough and dry from wind-exposure and steam burns collected while on shift at the _Tweak Bros._ coffeehouse. Yet as Craig held onto it for just a moment longer than he knew made sense, he traced the pad of his thumb over the knuckles and decided them to be the kind of hands a girl would one day be so very lucky to get to hold.

_Don't be weird._

Releasing his grip, Craig cleared his throat and tried to ignore the burning sensation at the tips of his ears as he directed his attention back to the television. He could feel Tweek's amber gaze still hot against the skin of his face, setting the nerves in his stomach aflutter.

"I'll definitely ask you the question, I just... I just have to find the perfect place," Craig rambled, studying the screen intently, "So that there's a good background and lighting and... stuff."

"Sounds fair enough to me, man," Tweek conceded easily, nodding and returning his attention to the film as well.

Onscreen, the bumbling fool was in the middle of finding multiple reasons as to why he was glad he'd rejected the pretty celebrity girl. After watching it for a few more minutes in silence, Craig leaned over to whisper in Tweek's ear.

"This movie is super corny."

The blonde scoffed, digging a sharp elbow into his side before answering in a matching whisper, his smile a pearlescent flash in the darkened living room.

"Remember what I told you; it's all about _nutrition._ "

_"Miss Scott... are there any circumstances in which you two might be more than just friends?"_ Hugh Grant asked Julia Roberts from the television, pretending to be a journalist at her press conference.

Craig rolled his eyes.

"I've had enough corn for one day."

Beside him, Tweek laughed and held up two more DVDs he'd brought from his house, their covers bearing the titles _10 Things I Hate About You_ and _Say Anything_.

"How do you feel about a cheesy second and third course then?" He teased, grinning wide when Craig responded only by groaning and pulling his hat down over his eyes, "Aw come on, Craig, how are you ever going to get a girlfriend unless you learn how to publicly confess your undying love to them?"

Vision blurred black beneath the hat, Craig grimaced, feeling his heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. Unsure as to why the teasing comment had left him so agitated, he opened his mouth as if to speak but he found he didn't quite know what to say.

"Is that the only way to do it? A big public display?" He asked finally, carefully keeping his voice even.

Tweek laughed, the sound light and rasping as he pulled Craig's hat up to have a full view of his face once more. Fingers moving lightly around the edges of his face to tuck the stray strands of black hair back under the knitted material, he didn't seem to notice as Craig shivered under his touch.

"It doesn't have to be... but if you love someone, you shouldn't -- shouldn't be ashamed to let the world know," Tweek murmured, almost more to himself than to his companion, before he caught Craig's eye and grinned mischievously, "If it were me though, I'd definitely go for the option of standing outside their house with a boombox playing the perfect song."

"So... true love is knowing the perfect song?"

His heart was beating hard against his sternum as he watched the golden boy watch him, hearing the end credits of the film beginning to play in the background yet suddenly barely able to remember what the plot had been. Tweek nodded slowly, amber eyes alight as they met his dark blue ones.

"Well yeah..." He replied easily, leaning back into the couch with a contented sigh and adding jokingly, "Although I suppose it doesn't hurt looking as hot as John Cusack either."

"John Cusack is _not_ hot," Craig huffed, earning himself a wheezing laugh from the other boy.

"Ah, you're definitely wrong there," Tweek denied, lifting up the _Say Anything_ DVD as if it were a holy relic, "But let me show you just _how_ wrong you truly are."

It was with grumbles and sighs that Craig got up off the sofa to swap over the film discs, pressing play before sinking back down beside Tweek. Their knees knocked lightly, their bodies close enough to almost touch, and when the next romcom from Tweek's list of favourites started, he found he didn't mind the cheesiness of it all quite as much as he thought he would.

 


	21. Tweak and Tucker Take On the World

_\- in which the unwilling partnership is unwilling no more -_

He knew it was the perfect day he'd been waiting for the second he awoke, with golden sunlight peeking through the navy folds of his curtains and lending a dim grey haze to everything within his bedroom. His mom had barely had to knock for him to snap awake, stretching out his body like a cat beneath the comforter before turning to flash a rare smile towards where she stood in the doorway.

"Good morning, Munchkin," she hummed, the lines in her face creasing up as she returned the smile, loving warmth reaching all the way up to the bright blue of her eyes.

For once Craig didn't really mind the embarrassing nickname, although he still shook his head at her as if it were otherwise. Old habits, he'd once been told, died hard.

Getting quickly dressed, he grabbed the camcorder and checked how much fresh tape was in it before deciding to change it over to a new one. Nerves tingled in his fingers as he clicked it into place, adding the previous cassette to the growing stack he had accumulating beside the box of old family film tapes that he'd never had the heart to return to their dusty tomb.

Pulling the curtains open wide, he for a moment simply stood and looked out onto the early Spring day through the grimy glass of his window. The light breeze was enough to stir up the branches of the Fir trees that sprouted along the roadside, shaking off their layers of Winter snow little by little. It would still be cold until the end of semester, with new snow doubtlessly blowing in from the surrounding mountains to replace what melted on warmer days like these, but as he turned his face up towards the pale sky, Craig felt as if he were an animal emerging from a long hibernation.

It had finally come; the perfect day to ask Tweek his question.

Ready far earlier than normal, he for once didn't have to rush his breakfast or hurry on the walk to the bus stop with Tricia, arriving well before Jimmy or Clyde did. The two Tucker siblings sat side by side on the seat to wait, silent as they watched Mr White from across the road start self-importantly raking the thinning snow from his front lawn, revealing it to be yellowed and long past given-up beneath.

After a while, Tricia finally spoke, her gaze fixed on the man in the distance instead of turning to meet Craig's eye.

"So, Tweek was saying that you're both going to be in that showcase night near the end of semester?" She asked tentatively, her usually brash tone for once entirely missing.

The boy felt his brow crinkle in concern, looking sideways at her as he replied cautiously, "Yeah, we are."

"Is that how you guys became... uh... why you started hanging out all the time?" She faltered, still not looking at him whilst alarm bells started ringing in Craig's mind.

_Well, I'm sure as hell not telling her that it's because he was assigned to be my tutor..._

"I don't know. I guess so," He said flatly, trying not to panic as he asked, "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to _me_ ," Tricia snapped back, sounding more like her usual self as she finally faced him, levelling him with a glare, "But I think _other_ people might be confused about the sudden connection."

_Huh??_

Static prickled down through the centre of him as he tried to swallow the sudden anxiety, startled by the idea that anyone had even been paying enough attention to notice that he and Tweek had become friends. Giving his sister an unguarded look of wide-eyed incredulousness, she merely sighed irritably in response.

"You two hang out all the time, and you have all these weird inside jokes you whisper to each other before Tweek starts laughing like he's asphyxiating or something. Did you not think people have eyes and ears?" She pointed out dryly, rolling her eyes and returning the gesture when Craig flipped her off in response.

"Okay. What's your point?" He muttered, crossing his arms and glaring out across the street whilst the Numbness gifted him defensive anger in return for the jumble of panic and fear that coursed through him.

"Well, it was weird, but Stan Marsh came up and asked me about you two the other day when I was shopping with mom at the _Safeway_ ," Tricia began, tentative for a few moments once more before wrinkling her nose and adding scathingly, "He had opened up a six-pack of _Bud Light_ and was wandering around drinking them thinking he was being subtle. Boys are such idiots."

Craig briefly broke out of his state of alarm to roll his eyes at her, "Okay, noted. What did he say?"

"He was drunk I think, but he called me 'Little Tucker' and wanted to know if I'd noticed you hanging around with a 'twitchy short kid' lately," She continued, crossing her arms and scoffing at the memory of it.

The boy's mouth went dry, a thousand different questions lighting up within his skull but yet only one that mattered: why the did Stan Marsh have an interest in what he was doing with Tweek?

_Maybe he's jealous? Maybe he wants to be my only secret friend._

The guess was wrong, so very, very wrong, but he wouldn't know until much later, when everything had unravelled and the beauty of hindsight reared it's head.

"What did you tell him?" Craig asked slowly, frowning off into space.

"I told him to go get fucked," Tricia drawled smugly, and he felt a single moment of relief before she added, "And that if he called Tweek twitchy and short again I'd deck him."

_Ah fuck, well that would have pretty much confirmed it._

"He then just smiled and said 'interesting' before staggering away like the loser he is," She continued, then became tentative once more, "What was weird was that a minute after he was gone, that girl from your year, Wendy Testaburger, came up to me and asked about you and Stan."

_Shit._

"Oh?? Really? What did you say?" Craig prompted, anxiety lighting up through his guts once more.

"I said you guys hate each other?" Tricia answered, her voice coming out slow and questioning in a way that set the boy's teeth on edge, "She then said 'good' and asked about you and Tweek."

_Double shit._

"Tricia," He said, his voice low and urgent, "What did you tell her?"

His sister gave him a concerned look, quirking a single strawberry blonde brow before replying, "I said it was none of her business, and that stalking her ex-boyfriend around a store and interrogating the people he talked to was a pathetic use of her time."

_Oh thank god._

Relieved, Craig snickered at Tricia's infamously acerbic tongue, giving her a playful pat on the back as if to say _'you did good, kid'_. The girl however was far less cheerful as she fixed him with an uncharacteristically serious gaze, her lips pressed into a thin hard line before they parted for her to speak once more.

"I don't know what's going on, but... just be careful, Craig," She murmured, a crease appearing across her forehead as she sighed and looked out towards the dead grass in front of the White's house, abandoned now even by its owner's rake, "People in this town always want to think the worst of us, and sometimes that means they'll see things differently to how they really are. Just... just don't go giving them a reason to say Dad was right for leaving us."

Craig frowned, unsure he understood her meaning, but before he could ask her to explain they were being greeted by Jimmy and Clyde, and she was giving her seat to Jimmy before stalking off to stand texting her friends a few yards away like usual. With his two friends eagerly telling him about their plans for Clyde's seventeenth birthday party coming up, Craig quickly forgot her warning, pushing it to the back of his mind where it could be left to the dust and spider's webs just like the bottles of his father's bourbon in the garage.

"So it's going to be Friday night next week," Clyde was rambling as the bus pulled up, leaping to his feet with contagious levels of energy, "I'm inviting basically everyone in the grade, and it's going to be such a cool house party that Bebe remembers exactly why she loves me."

"I-Is the r-r-reason she 'loves' you b-b-because unlike Kenny you can afford to b-buy more than just b-balloons for your b-big b-birthday b-b-bash?" Jimmy teased, hauling himself onto the bus after Clyde whilst Craig brought up the rear.

"Yes, that's exactly the reason," Clyde agreed cheerfully, before pouting when the other two laughed, "Hey, don't be mean; it's almost my birthday."

Shaking his head at his friend's antics, Craig took his seat beside Token and listened along mostly in silence as the birthday plans were reiterated so that he fourth member of their gang could be brought up to speed. Nodding every now and then to look like he was paying attention, his gaze slid by habit towards the back of the bus to see that Stan was once again missing from his seat beside Kyle, a space that had been happily filled by Heidi.

_Poor Stan, it must be hard being the only gay boy in_ _—_

"Craig? Did you hear me?"

Shaking his head to clear it, he flicked his attention back to his friends, looking at each of them dazedly in turn before settling on Clyde, who had been the one who'd spoken.

"Hm?"

"I said, please invite Tweek to come to my party," Clyde repeated good-naturedly, sharing a glance of support with Jimmy and Token before smiling and adding, "We really want to all get to know him better, so then you don't have to feel like you have to hang out with him separately to us."

"Plus, the guy could probably stand to gain a few more friends," Token added reasonably.

"I d-don't know what these f-fellas are on about," Jimmy joked, "I j-just wanted m-m-more m-members for our g-gang."

All three of them smiled hopefully at Craig, and despite the small whispers of anxiety that echoed in the back of his mind, Craig found himself nodding and giving them a small smile back.

"I'll ask him, but no promises though."

_Would he think it was too much pressure? I don't want to make him stressed, but it would be nice if he could hang out with us all._

The rules of their interactions had been clear; no one was to know, Craig had to try harder in his classes, and they weren't to remain friends after the semester. Yet, if Wendy continued snooping around, it would surely soon be no longer a secret that Tweek was helping Craig pass the grade, and therefore did the other rules still apply? Could he truly be Tweek's friend, even after all of this was over?

He was still musing over the conundrum when the bus arrived at school, getting off alongside his friends but clearly separate from them as he began to walk slower and slower with the weight of his thoughts like lead encasing his feet. He couldn't tell what he wanted, or why he felt scared, and yet he knew that for whatever reason, it _mattered_ whether or not he stopped trying to hide how much Tweek meant to him.

_I don't want everyone to make it ugly. I don't want Tweek to get branded "bad" just because we're friends and I don't want him getting targeted for it either._

Tricia's words to him that morning resurfaced from the recesses to which they'd sunk, and he paused at the threshold to the school building, feeling the mass of bodies wash around and past him as he stood still.

_People have already noticed. Continuing to hide it will just make them think there's something..._ **_wrong_ ** _going on._

He didn't want to name what the "wrong" thing was, breezing over it quickly and nodding determinedly to himself as he jogged to catch up with his friends. They were waiting for him just inside the doors, bickering about Clyde's seven step plan to win Bebe's heart back from Kenny, and as he joined them, Craig couldn't help but feel both warm and guilty with affection for them all.  
               Clyde had been right; he'd neglected them a little in the past few weeks, and yet there they were, still happy to be right there for him when he finally caught back up. They were his best friends, and he supposed he loved them in a way, as embarrassingly gay as it would have sounded if he said it aloud.

_Tricia is right, but so is Tweek; if you..._ _care..._ _about people you shouldn't be afraid to have the world know. They're my friends, and so is Tweek. It's nothing to be ashamed of or try to hide._

His heart was beating fast as he made his way to class, ducking and weaving through his peers as if they were no more than mere obstacles standing between him and the English classroom where he knew Tweek would be already waiting for him. He'd be up the back, head bowed over an open notebook as he scribbled down quotes for their upcoming essay in his small cramped handwriting, yet always as soon as Craig would lope in late through the doors the boy would look up and smile, big and bright with no holds barred.

That day was no different, yet the second the amber gaze he'd grown to know so well met his own, Craig felt suddenly too shy to tell him about his epiphany. The right words didn't gather on his tongue, his throat constricting until there was no room for them to squeeze their way through and past his bitten lips. It would have made him much too defenceless to tell Tweek he cared about him, or that he considered him one of his best friends; would have stripped him bare and forced him to walk naked down Tweek's line of sight until a decision was made to pull the trigger or not.

Instead he took the cowardly option, swallowing thickly past his own insecurities as he turned and asked a question.

"So... do you want to go with me to Clyde's party next week?"

It wasn't the question he'd woken up wanting to ask, and yet he was provided with an answer that lifted his spirits far more than one about death ever could; Tweek quirking a single blonde brow as if to check he was serious before grinning broadly.

"Only if you promise to dance with me when 'The Boy With the Thorn in His Side' comes on," He replied teasingly, and Craig rolled his eyes.

"I doubt it, man, Clyde's music taste doesn't include anything made before 2005."

"Don't worry," Tweek replied, his voice light and rasping, "I'm not afraid to commandeer the AUX cord if it's for the Greater Good of Mankind."

The declaration sounded like something from an episode of _Star Trek_ they'd watched recently, and Craig smirked.

"Easy now, Spock."

Always quick to catch on, Tweek's answer was said in a goofily poor imitation of the monotone character, a single hand raised in the infamous splay-fingered salute.

"Easy is never the Vulcan way, Captain."

 

——————————————————

 

When his last class of the day ended, Craig swung by the music room on his way out of the school, dragging his bag by a single strap and holding the camcorder aloft by the other.

His AV lesson had been frustrating to say the least, with Mr Meryl complimenting him on his choice of subject matter for the project before commenting that the footage so far lacked "vulnerability".

"You have these beautiful shots of people opening up and being vulnerable to you, but where's _your_ vulnerability as the filmmaker? Where are you serving up your heart on a platter for the audience?" The man had prompted him, yet Craig had no answer for the questions.

He was scowling with frustration as he scuffed his trainers along the ground with every step, wishing he wasn't so stupid so then maybe he'd have a chance at understanding whatever the hell it was that Mr Meryl wanted from him.

Up ahead, a soft piano refrain could be heard drifting out from music room, melancholy and instantly recognisable as the song Tweek had chosen for the Showcase night that was steadily approaching. In an effort to combat the almost certainty of an onstage panic attack, he had been practicing it on a level that was almost becoming borderline obsessive, so much that even Craig as a mere observer now felt he knew the lyrics well enough that they could perform it as a duet.   
                    Heat inexplicably rising to his cheeks at the thought, Craig shook his head like an agitated animal to clear it. Knowing the lyrics to 'Fireproof' by _The National_ wasn't going to help him if his awful attempt at a film ended up being embarrassingly shown to the student body and their parents in a few weeks.

Stopping at the threshold to the door instead of coming in to watch like he usually would, the boy leaned himself against the frame, long-limbed and clad in black and blue as if he were a mere bruise that had grown a pulse. At the back of the music room crouched the piano, a grand hulking shape of sleek ebony that made the boy who sat before it seem even smaller in contrast, his back to Craig and his head bowed.

Not wanting to interrupt the dance of Tweek's fingers over the piano keys, Craig stood and listened, his breathing slowing alongside the settling of his nerves. It seemed more and more that Tweek had that effect on him; smoothing out raised hackles and gently closing the doorway from which the Numbness usually came, it's hungry mouth now so often going without being fed. It wasn't as if he had somehow healed him, but more that he made Craig feel brave.

Craig himself wasn't quite sure which was more dangerous of the two.

As the last few notes of the song petered out into the growing quiet of the quickly emptying school, the boy shouldered his bag and straightened his hat before calling out to make his presence known.

"Good job Mozart, are you ready to go?"

Turning around with a visible jolt of surprise, Tweek's expression was already warping into an affectionate scowl when their gazes met from across the room, his snub-ended nose crinkling up in a way that made Craig's stomach do a small flip.

_God he's annoying. Always having to act so fucking adorable._

"I think Beethoven was the better pianist, actually," Tweek commented in mock-disdain, before grinning and grabbing his green backpack off the floor as he added, "But thanks, Kubrick."

Rolling his eyes and trying to ignore the twinge of discomfort he felt at being compared, even jokingly, to such a talented filmmaker, Craig lazily beckoned the other boy with a wave of his hand. Turning away and beginning to lope down the hallway, he didn't have to look back to know Tweek was skipping happily to join him; he knew he'd be there by his side soon, the same way that one could depend on the sun rising up in the morning to lead them out from under the darkness.

The mismatched pair were of the last few students leaving the grounds as they cut a path across the snow-covered lawn, shoulders brushing and cheeks smouldering in the cold. The blonde boy asked about the other's class, listening silently as the sorry tale of absent vulnerability and confusing criticism was described in a nasal monotone. 

The sun was melting like butter across the snow whilst Craig's feet disappeared in and out of it, his discontented grimace turning into a scoff of amusement as Tweek nodded sympathetically and then snatched his hat off his head, dashing off with it held high.

"Hey! I wasn't finished my story," He protested, covering his hair with his one free hand while shooting a disapproving look over to where Tweek had stopped up ahead.

"I knew how it would end, it would end with how you think you were stupid to have signed up for the class anyway," Tweek replied, pulling the hat on over his golden mess of hair and adding earnestly, "Which wouldn't have been true, by the way."

Craig sniffed and shook his head, making his way over to where Tweek had stopped and pausing a few yards away from the other boy, feeling held back as if by an invisible force. Perhaps it was those amber eyes heavy on his, set into a face that never seemed to have anything to hide; every emotion written out there for the world to see. Or perhaps it was the fact that looking at him made him feel like he had been pulled undone, had been laid out bare and soft-bellied at his mercy.   
               In his mind's eye, when Tweek went in for the kill it looked more like it was his lips rather than his teeth that pressed hard to Craig's jugular.

"Are you still going to ask me the question for it?" The blonde boy asked suddenly, slipping the knitted hat back off and fidgeting with it his hands .

Surprised, Craig swallowed hard before replying, "Yeah..."

"Then ask me," Tweek murmured, gesturing to the camcorder still held drooping in his hand.

He didn't need convincing to raise the camera up to his eye; he wanted to keep him there, standing in the snow with him. A shaky boy with restless hands, perfect straight white teeth sunk tender and expectant into the soft skin of his lower lip. There'd surely be a notch there, permanently etched into the flesh from how often he bit into it, yet if there was Craig couldn't have discovered it with sight alone.

What he _could_ see was the scar he'd given him, a stroke of white tracing up from his mouth as if it had been drawn there with trembling hands.

_My hands._

Guilt coursed through him, fierce and bitter enough to make him want to gag as the question caught in his throat. He could see himself as he'd been at nine-years-old, holding Tweek's face cupped between palms and feeling the thick hot scarlet that had oozed from that wound against his fingertips.

_And for **what?** To prove I was tough? Because Stan's gang goaded me into it? To make my dad take notice of me; to try and make him proud?_

He didn't want the answers, he wanted a silhouette shaped void right through the centre of him to shove the questions into. He collected them in his fist, crushing them hard into himself only to find there was no space for them to go. No numbness prickled static down the length of his sternum, no heavy darkness rippled hungrily in wait; there was only him standing there with Tweek Tweak out on the frozen field, fragile yet perhaps finally whole.

_It surely isn't enough. Surely even the whole of me isn't enough._

The camera lowered, his throat bobbing in a dry swallow as he tried to find the right words to explain how terrifying it all was to find himself there, of all the places in the world.

"What's wrong, man?" Tweek asked softly, his brows knitted together in concern.

"What if I can't do this?"

It came from Craig's mouth in a clumsy rush, his jaw clenching with discomfort and his gaze shifting to his white-knuckled hands.

"How do you mean?" the other boy rasped, stepping closer only for Craig to take a step back.

"What if after all this, after all your help and everyone supporting me, it turns out it's not dyslexia and I'm just stupid, and -- and I'm not something, I'm nothing at all," He blurted, closing his eyes against the embarrassment of his own confession.

The sound of Tweek's footfalls crunching against the snow was all he heard for a few seconds, trembling with the terror of not knowing what was about to happen before he felt the fever-heat of his arms wrapping around him. Tentative, as if reaching out to pat the wounded lion with the thorn in its paw, yet unyielding, wiry arms wrapped around Craig's waist, fingers curling into the material at the back of his jacket. Cheek laid against his chest, the tufts of Tweek's hair tickled soft and feathery beneath Craig's chin as he stood frozen for a moment, eyes opening wide with shock.

"You'll make it through -- I mean, you never back down from anything," Tweek told him gently, already releasing his hold as he added timidly, "What did you tell me once? 'I'm rooting for you'? Well, I'm rooting for you too, Craig."

His heart was beating steady and slow as he finally broke from his surprised motionlessness, his arms lifting to pull Tweek back into the embrace. He wanted him pressed into his chest, he wanted the pitter patter of his pulse against his own, and the desperate want of it was enough to make him dizzy, enough to make him dazed.

Hesitantly, Tweek hugged him back once more, letting out a small breath of laughter that Craig felt vibrate against his sternum.

"So... you're finally admitting you might have dyslexia then?" the blonde boy prompted lightly, his tone almost an affectionate tease.

Chin resting on the soft crown of spiky hair tucked beneath it, Craig made a small grumbling noise, his eyes closed and body relaxing into the press of Tweek's.

"Maybe."

"Well, I won't say 'I told you so'... but it sure is tempting," Tweek snickered, gently extricating himself from the embrace and taking a single step back so Craig could see the crooked curl of his mouth.

"How did you see it though?" He asked quietly, still feeling a little light-headed, "How did you manage to see _me._ "

It was the question he'd been wondering about since that day out by the lake with Clyde, and a prickle of nervous energy slid down his spine as he asked it.

"I've _always_ seen you, I mean, how could I not? You've never been exactly inconspicuous," Tweek said, laughing softly before he suddenly paused, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he quickly added, "I told you, remember? You've always make it _The Craig Tucker Show_ , the entire time I've ever been forced to know you."

Slightly disappointed in the ease at which he'd been answered, Craig rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, yeah, you hated me. I remember."

Tweek looked uncomfortable for a moment, his amber eyes flicking around to look at the sky, the snowy grass, then finally his own grubby converse shoes as he visibly chewed at the answer his tongue had readied to supply.

"I didn't hate you, I was scared of you."

There were a few seconds of silence as Craig simply stared at him, too taken aback to know what to say. It made sense of course, and yet the idea that the boy that had been fierce enough to take him on in the hallway after Mr Mackey had first paired them together had secretly been scared of him was difficult to swallow.

"Why?" He finally asked, cringing at how his voice came out all cracked and vulnerable.

"Man, you mashed my face up in Fourth Grade," Tweek laughed, his eyes crinkling up in the corners as he began to wheeze, "After which you gave me an anti-apology letter when we got back from being suspended."

_The letter... Mom mentioned it before too, but still I can't remember what I wrote._

"Do you still have it?" Craig blurted without thinking, then internally cursed himself as he watched the other boy's laughter quickly fade from his face.

"Oh -- ah, well... I -- I don't know," Tweek backtracked hurriedly, his speech becoming a nervous stumble, "I don't -- I don't think I kept it."

Aware that he'd accidentally somehow entered onto awkward terrain with the other boy, Craig still couldn't help but ask the panicked question that always came to mind when he remembered the sorry note from all those years ago.

"What did it say?"

Tweek's gaze slid sideways, his teeth coming down to bite his lower lip.

"I... don't remember. Something threatening I think."

Realising he would be receiving no further information on the subject, Craig bit back a sigh as he shrugged, "I guess it doesn't matter since we're friends now."

A beat of silence passed in which panic started to flare within him, causing him to crack and immediately seek to clarify, "We _are_ friends now, right?

Tweek laughed, bright and wonderful, "Yes, Craig, we're friends."

"But that third rule of yours...?" He reminded him with a slight smirk, trying not to openly display how pleased he was at the answer.

"Hey man, you made Rule Number One that you didn't want anyone to know you were affiliated with me, of _course_ I was then wary about accidentally thinking we were somehow going to actually be friends," Tweek reasoned, tossing back the hat he had been wringing nervously in his hands during their conversation.

"I never thought about it that way... I'm sorry," Craig admitted, sheepish as he tugged the woollen garment back on and added jokingly, "I guess I'm just cold and callous remember? An emotionless thug I think you called me once."

Tweek flushed pink, smiling ruefully as he shook his head. Lifting up a perpetually mitten-less hand to Craig's forehead, he brushed his hat away and laid the backs of his knuckles across the skin there as if testing a fever.

"I take it back, you're very warm," The boy announced, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he pulled it away to pinch Craig's already blushing cheek.

"Ow, what the fuck was that for?" He snapped, batting him off as Tweek only grinned.

"Proof you do feel things after all; so I'll admit I was wrong on both accounts."

The smile was returned, full and wide with all his crooked teeth on display because for once it felt like it didn't matter, like it couldn't matter because somehow the golden boy had seen past him to where something worthwhile lay deep inside.

Finally raising the camera back up to his face, he stepped back to catch Tweek perfectly in the frame, painted in shades of gold and rosy pink against the fading light of the sky.

"What do you think happens when we die?"Craig asked, pressing record with a steady hand.

"Don't we become stars?" Tweek replied softly, then laughed at himself shyly, "I'd like to go up there and be a little light in all that dark."

Craig thought of the flickering candlelight in his own chest, the one that had sparked to life as he'd sat across from the other boy on his bed that first night, and nodded.

_You already are, Tweek. You already are._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last moment of calm before the storm...


	22. The Party at Clyde's House and Everything That Happened

_\- in which it's all fun and games until no one's playing anymore -_

The afternoon of Clyde's birthday party arrived sooner than Craig thought it would, distractedly waving goodbye to Tweek after walking him to _Tweak Bros._ coffee house before turning back towards home with a feeling like a fist was clutching at his heart. He frowned, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets and sidestepping around the other pedestrians on the Main Street in instinctual shuffling movements as he tried to pinpoint the reasoning behind his nerves.

_Tonight will be fun; Tweek will come after his shift and then he can properly hang out with me and my friends... and just about_ **_everyone_ ** _in our grade..._

Realising his jaw had clenched so hard his teeth were aching, Craig had to consciously open and close it a few times to try and ease the tension from his face. Stomach fluttering as if full of insects, he hunched his shoulders against the chill and quickened his pace.

Faint electronic music was already drifting into the quiet suburban air from the Donovan's lower story windows when he passed it on his way to his front door, sounding like the foreboding beginnings of a death march to the agitated boy. He paused for a second on the concrete steps, scraping snow off his shoes as he looked over towards the house next door with a prickle of excited unease.  
                    Things had to go well that night; he knew it with every fibre of his being. He wanted Tweek to have a good time and for his friends to like him as much as he did, as well as for Clyde to not be too heartbroken when the night possibly didn't end with Bebe declaring her undying love for him. He wanted Token to finally make a move on Nicole the way he'd been dreaming of since forever, and he wanted Jimmy to victoriously trick just about every partygoer he could with the new "fishsticks" joke he'd made up on the morning bus that week. He even wanted Stan to somehow find some moment of tenderness to share with Kyle, without Heidi standing by to ruin the mood.

Yet it was too much to ask of the universe, and Craig Tucker was far from convinced that wishing for things ever made them so.

Shaking his head to clear it, he went inside and up the stairs, easily taking them two at a time with his lanky legs. His bag with the camcorder tucked safely inside was placed gently down by his bedroom door before he carelessly kicked off his shoes and ditched his winter jacket onto the wall hook.

"Get out, I need to shower," He grumbled at Tricia when he found her inspecting a burgeoning blemish in the bathroom mirror, sitting up on the edge of the counter to get a better view.

"Say _'please'_ , you gangly fuck," She snapped back, her bright blue eyes narrowing at him in the reflective surface.

They flipped each other off, stony faced and unyielding, until finally Craig sighed and relented.

"Please?"

"Please _what?_ "

With an internal groan of frustration at the mind games, the boy played his trump card for such altercations; apathetic action. Shrugging as if he didn't care either way, he began pulling off his t-shirt in a slow, pointed movement, dropping it on the tiled floor before beginning to unbutton his jeans.

_3... 2... 1..._

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ -- I'm going! I'm going!" Tricia exclaimed in disgust, slapping a hand over her eyes dramatically before escaping out through the open door.

Still mostly dressed, Craig smirked at his victory as he slammed the bathroom door and locked himself inside. Twisting on the shower taps, he got the water running in a scalding hot spray, then ditched the rest of his clothes before stepping into the cubicle. Steam swirled up against the glass panels in chaotic movements that mirrored his own as he scrubbed himself red raw, as if trying to cleanse the nervous energy from his skin itself.

Drying himself in a fluffy towel, he made his way back to his bedroom and stood clutching the material around himself in the centre of the floor, scowling at his drawers. He didn't usually think too hard about what to wear, always opting for whatever felt most worn-in and comfy, but that night felt too important to not make an effort. With a sigh he began rifling through the dresser, searching for his favourite Michelin Man t-shirt and coming up empty-handed.

_Agh fuck, I never got it back from Tweek after he took it home the day he faked being sick._

Allowing himself a brief smile at the memory, the boy couldn't help but wonder if Tweek ever wore it, the way he often wore the borrowed birthday jumper. Despite multiple occasions where there'd been an attempt to return the knitted garment, Craig always ended up handing it back over once he realised that yet again the gold-haired boy was foolishly underdressed for the weather.

_I'll probably never see that t-shirt again until one day Tweek is suddenly wearing it._

The thought made him strangely giddy, his mouth remaining in an upwards curve as he rifled through the other t-shirts he owned and decided on the only one that didn't have a stain or tear. The usual black jeans were pulled on next, followed by the same navy jacket that he wore without fail every single day.   
               Standing in the mirror, it took him a few seconds to realise that he looked no different than he had at school that day, and he rolled his eyes at his own mediocre reflection. The only thing that was different was that he was without his hat, an occurrence that happened more and more often lately after Tweek had admitted that he thought his hair was cute, cowlicks and all.

"It's a shame we basically never get to see you without your silly hat," Tweek had murmured, almost as if speaking to himself, and reached out dazedly to stroke his hands over one of the stubborn flicks atop Craig's head, "You look so nice without it."

The feel of the other boy's hand through his hair had been enough to make the breath catch in his throat, his pulse turning to a flurried staccato as he refrained from leaning into the touch.

"Your hair is so soft," Tweek laughed, mussing the black locks between his slender fingers.

Without thinking, Craig had reached out to return the gesture, smoothing his hand over the spiky blonde tufts and feeling them like golden silk beneath his palms.

"So is yours," he told the boy, heat beginning to creep across his cheeks, "I thought it would be spiky. It looks spiky."

The memory of it made Craig blush again in the mirror, frowning at his own pink hue for a moment longer before pushing it from his mind. Checking his phone briefly for the time, he discovered he'd received a text from Clyde a few minutes ago.

**Crybaby Clyde** **♥** **:** _"u said u found ur dad's hidden stash in ur garage?? can u bring it?? i accidentally used up our entire liquor cabinet making punch"_

With the ghostlike trace of an ache in his chest, Craig rolled his eyes and texted back that he would, pocketing the device and making his way downstairs. The sensation was odd, reminding him of the dull throb of an overly-tensed muscle, the bruising meat and tendons frozen rigid and strained somewhere beneath the skin. It stayed with him as he removed the two dusty bottles of _Jack Daniels_ from the shelf in the garage, wiping them off on a nearby rag before stowing them inside his jacket.

"I'm heading over to Clyde's now," I announced through the open front door, keeping his suspiciously bulky front hidden behind the frame so that neither his mom nor sister would see.

Then he was out across the frozen lawn, his feet sinking through the thinning snow to the grass beneath with every step. The electronic music he'd heard from outside earlier was only louder once he entered the house, looking around at the gaudy mess his friend had made of the living room beyond with a bored expression.

"Did you really need to string up fairy-lights along the walls?" He asked in a monotone when Clyde finally appeared from upstairs, dressed in only his white briefs and looking ever so slightly manic with excitement.

"Dude, I have fairy-lights strung up along the entire length of the hall upstairs too," The boy bragged, rubbing his hands together like a Hollywood-style mastermind, "Girls LOVE twinkly lights. Bebe won't know what hit her."

_More like she won't know whether it's Clyde's birthday or_ **_Christmas_ ** _._

Pulling the two bottles out from his jacket, Craig held them up in offering and watched bemused as Clyde let out a melodramatic cry of relief and threw his arms around him.

"You're a lifesaver! Do you want to have some before Jimmy and Token get here for the pre-party?"

Extricating himself from the crushing embrace, Craig shook his head, looking up and away towards the rest of the house rather than his friend's face.

"No, let's finish setting up first," He declined slowly, fumbling around for the excuse, "And you should put some pants on."

"You're no fun, you know that right?" Clyde joked, but the bottles remained unopened nevertheless.

As he helped inflate balloons and set up the drinks table, the boy continued to scratch at the feeling of trepidation he had towards drinking the bourbon, digging mental nails into it as if it were an itch he was determined to make bleed. In his mind it didn't make sense; he had drunk alcohol a few times before, back when he and his friends all had sleepovers at Token or Clyde's house. He could remember the burn of his first sip of vodka at age fifteen, gagging against the harsh chemical taste whilst the other boys had done the same.

Yet this wasn't vodka snuck from the Donovan's liquor cabinet, not whisky sipped from Stan's silver flask; this was his father's bourbon. It was the scent of his breath at night, was the brown film left at the bottom of a glass still clutched in his hand when they'd find him passed out at the table the next morning. It was shouted insults and violent hands, was silences that stretched on and on until they'd all felt they might go crazy.

It was what Thomas Tucker had chosen, time and time again, right up until that last bitter day when he'd chosen it over his own family.

_We should finish both bottles tonight. It's not like he's coming back to claim them._

It was the callous line of his own thinking that had him standing at the kitchen counter and clinking overly-full glasses with Clyde, Jimmy and Token half an hour later, feeling the potent mix of _Jack Daniels_ and coke sloshing over the rim to fizz ice cold and sticky against his fingers. When the liquid hit his tongue it tasted like nothing he had ever encountered before, all caramel bitterness mixed against the sweet of the cola until he wasn't sure which flavour had won.

He supposed it didn't matter; he drained the glass either way.

"J-j-jeez, slow d-down there, Craig," Jimmy advised with a laugh, "We have all n-night to g-g-get drunk."

The boy nodded, yet the friendly guidance immediately drifted to the back of his mind when the first few guests started arriving and he recalled that Tweek wouldn't be coming for another few hours. It made his stomach flutter with nerves, even whilst he wished for the time to flash by as quickly as possible. The discomfort of the sensation had him eagerly grabbing for the refill Clyde poured him, leaning back against the living room wall to watch as Jimmy said something to Jason White and Kevin Stoley that made them both laugh hard enough for punch to shoot out of Kevin's nose. This only made Jason laugh harder, curling inward on himself while Red handed her spluttering boyfriend a fistful of serviettes with a peevish expression.

He felt the bourbon in his chest first, a flushed hum that spread out to his fingertips and down to his stomach. For a brief moment he thought it was the insidious static of his numbness, before he realised it was too warm, too light and clouded to be that all-consuming void he knew so well.   
              Despite the differences in sensation, the growing hum was _also_ hungry; biting into the nervous jitters he'd been feeling and killing them with a smile. He found he felt disconnected from the scene around him, no longer himself in any way that he needed to be ashamed of.

More and more guests were arriving, bursting through the front door loud and heavily laden with clinking six packs of beer that had been pilfered from their parents, premixed spirit concoctions in re-used plastic water bottles and even a few cartons of boxed wine carried beneath arms. Fourth drink in hand, Clyde greeted them all exuberantly, wrapping acquaintances up in affectionate hugs and even going so far as to pouring all of Stan's gang some overly alcoholic punch when they first arrived.

"Dude, Donovan is the friendliest drunk I've ever met," Stan commented under his breath to Craig as he passed him with his friends, but didn't wait for an answer, hurrying off to claim a spot on the couch beside Kyle.

Craig watched with a slight frown as the boy was quickly shifted along when Heidi joined them, sitting between Stan and Kyle like a human blockade. Something about the look of resignation on his friend's face made his heart twist, and to try and settle back down into the happy haze that had fallen over him, he downed the rest of his drink.  
  
Things were blurry by the time Tweek arrived, silhouetted against the night in the doorway as the boy stood for a moment surveying the chaos of the party inside. For the multitudes of people packed chattering in groups and drunkenly dancing in the Donovan's household, only one of them turned to watch the shudder of Tweek's ribcage as he dragged in a shaky breath, his trembling hands pressed to a stomach sick with anxiety. It was the same person who then slipped through the crowd like a teenage fever-dream of Moses parting the red sea, footsteps unsteady but sure, until he was catching the nervous newcomer up in his arms with tipsy momentum.

"You're finally here!"

Somewhere in the back of Craig's mind he was aware it was a needless comment; of course Tweek was there, he was laughing and squirming in his grip with enough physical force to not merely be an apparition. Yet he said it anyway, so genuinely overjoyed by his friend's arrival that it consumed all common sense.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom and Dad made me close up the shop for them," Tweek laughed as Craig set him down, making a small scoffing sound when the taller boy bent to plant an uncharacteristically affectionate smooch on the crown of his head, "You smell like spirits."

"Makes sense," He mock-sighed, then beckoned, "Come on, I'll grab you a drink."

Stepping back into the party was like deep-diving into chaos, the twinkling fairy lights at odds with the strobing electronic music, the gyrating bodies on the living room dance-floor brushing up against those standing or sitting in groups. For a moment Tweek looked like he might be sick, his eyes wide and brow crinkled with worry, before Craig wordlessly took his hand. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen the small knowing smile shared between them, would have witnessed how the lines of tension in Tweek's face eased; yet no one was, and the quiet display of care was lost to the night around them as Craig led Tweek through the fray and into the kitchen, where two bottles of his father's bourbon was waiting for them.

_Dad would probably rather see me dead than holding hands with another boy on my way over to steal some more of his alcohol._

The thought intruded so suddenly on the warm haze of Craig's mind that he stopped dead in his tracks by the kitchen bench, dropping Tweek's hand as if it had burned him. The other boy opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again without a sound, staring down at his own palm with an expression Craig couldn't decipher.

He wasn't going to try to decipher it; he was going to pour them both a double and try to forget about the cold tendril that was snaking its way inside his chest at the thought of his father.

"Cheers," He offered weakly, handing the red solo cup over and raising his own in a mocking pantomime of the gesture.

"... cheers," Tweek echoed, flexing his fingers before taking the vessel and inspecting the fizzing black liquid inside for a few silent seconds.

"You're meant to drink it," Craig drawled, sipping from his own cup and trying not to pull a face.

"I know -- I just -- ah, I don't really drink that often," the blonde replied in a nervously halting manner, before downing the entire thing like his life depended on it.

"Holy shit dude, not so fast," Craig exclaimed, his voice raising in pitch from the exasperated shock the sight had left him reeling with.

Tweek made a choking sound as the strong taste registered on his tongue, then began a spluttering laugh that was soon joined in on; whatever strangely uncomfortable moment that had passed between them before well and truly forgotten. Pouring Tweek some of the blackcurrant punch Clyde had made as a more palatable replacement for his hastily consumed drink, Craig led the way over to where his friends were gathered at the foot of the stairs. 

In his element as Lord of the Dance, Clyde was dividing time between crumping off-beat in the centre of the room and then running back to where Jimmy and Token were sitting on the second stair to try and reinsert himself into the conversation. Snickering at his antics, the other two were deep in discussion over how Token should go about approaching Nicole, exchanging ideas in between attempts at consuming the jello shots Clyde had accidentally put in the freezer to set instead of the fridge. Jimmy was in the middle of hitting one upside-down against the edge of the stair when he looked up to see Craig and Tweek.

"Well h-hi there, f-f-fellas, what's rock-hard and has poor taste?" He asked smoothly by way of greeting, his mouth twitching at the corner with eagerness to share the punchline.

"I -- ah -- _what?"_ Tweek stammered, looking violently alarmed at the question.

"This j-jello shot," Jimmy informed them with a smirk, before pointing towards the dance floor behind them and adding, "Or Clyde right n-n-now. B-both f-f-fit the category."

Craig looked over his shoulder to see what Jimmy was referring to, only to then groan with unwilling understanding; the boy in question was currently attempting to dance what looked like the Waltz with Bebe Stevens. Shorter than her by an entire foot, Clyde had one hand on her shoulder and the other gripping hers tight, a dreamy look on his face whilst she tried to shake him loose with an apologetic frown.

_Ah shit, he needs rescuing before Kenny sees._

Rolling his eyes, Craig pushed his way through the crowd and over to the pair, grabbing his friend by the wrists and slipping his body between them.

"Mind if I cut in?" He asked Bebe flatly over his shoulder, merely nodding when she gave him a gratefully relieved look in return.

"Hey hey hey now, dude..." Clyde complained nasally, his expression one of heartbreak as the girl slipped quickly away, "I was pulling my Big Move."

"If you want to make a big move, you have to have a little more tact than that," Craig sighed, shaking his head and adding sarcastically, "You'd have had more luck if you'd asked her to play 'Spin the Bottle' and then rigged it to land on her."

He immediately regretted his comment when the boy's brown eyes went wide and bright with sudden excitement, his fringe flopping as he nodded ecstatically.

"That's genius!"

"No man, it's really not."

"We have to do it!"

"I really don't thi--"

"Craig," Clyde interrupted, laying both his hands on his taller friend's shoulders and looking up into his face with the most deadly serious face he could muster, "It's my birthday party, and I love her."

Craig sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as if to ask the heavens for strength before nodding defeatedly.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

Despite the half-formed promise of helping, the boy didn't truly know how one went about arranging a game of Spin the Bottle. Making his way back to Tweek, Jimmy, and Token with Clyde in tow, he tried to search past the blurry haze of his mind to come up with a clever solution yet only managed to find one; he didn't have any female friends to ask to come play the game, but he knew someone who did. Someone who owed him a favour, someone who would have done it regardless just because he'd asked.

Bebe.

The idea of asking her made his skin crawl, knowing the implication she'd assign to his request, and yet it only took another look at Clyde's hopeful face for him to resignedly excuse himself from the group, pulling Tweek along with him. The blonde made a slightly alarmed sound, sipping at his drink before stepping in close to hear what Craig had to say.

"Who's a girl you like?"

As if he'd been slapped, Tweek flinched backwards, giving him a perplexed look before responding.

"I don't _like_ \-- ah, well, I mean I guess..." He floundered, amber eyes darting around the room before affixing onto someone over Craig's shoulder, "Nicole is pretty."

"Token has his eye on her, anyone else?"

"Ah... I guess Wendy is smart --"

"No way in hell, man," Craig snapped, shuddering at the thought of the nightmare of having to see Tweek kissing Wendy around a Spin the Bottle circle.

"Annie Knitts?" Tweek tried again, irritation beginning to colour his voice.

Following his line of sight, Craig saw the girl in question dancing with Heidi Turner, the skirt of her red dress flipping up and down with her movements. He clenched his jaw.

"Sure thing."

A third girl joined the dancing pair, her strawberry blonde hair instantly recognisable from behind. Still feeling strangely sickened by the idea of Tweek having a crush on _any_ of the girls in his grade, Craig scowled at her until the memory of his own supposed crush flared to mind, and he nodded to himself as a new possible facet of the plan emerged.

_I'm going to make sure Millie Larsen is in that Spin the Bottle circle, no matter what._

"Why do you ask...?" Tweek prompted, but Craig was already making his way over to where Bebe sat on Kenny's lap at the dining room table, laughing along with the rest of Stan's gang at something Kyle had said.

"Well well _well_ , if it isn't _Fucker_ and his spazzy sidekick," Cartman sneered, small eyes glittering with hatred in the soft folds of his face, "I can feel the collective IQ in the room dropping already."

A hot flush of anger spiked through Craig, but Tweek was already retorting before he could even begin to formulate a response.

"That's not the room's IQ you can feel Cartman, it's your high cholesterol levels cutting off the blood supply to your brain," He snapped, earning himself a bout of hysterical laughter from Cartman's three supposed 'friends'.

" _Ey!_ I'm _not_ fat!" Cartman protested, and when a debate led by Kyle over just how terribly obese the boy truly was ensued, Craig took his opportunity to beckon Bebe over.

"Bebe, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour," He began, thankful for the hum of alcohol in his blood that ate away his anxiety as he watched her eyes light up with excitement.

"Depends on the favour," She flirted back cooly, quirking a single brow.

Craig's stomach twisted sickeningly.

"Well, my friend here," He continued, placing a hand on Tweek's shoulder, "He really likes your friend Annie, but he's too shy to make a move."

" _Wha--!"_ Tweek began to protest before Craig's foot came down surreptitiously hard on his toe, cutting him off.

"So we were wondering if you could ask her and a few of your other friends to come play Spin the Bottle with us? So he can have a chance," He explained, trying to look his most sincere despite how many lies he was telling.

Bebe looked between them both with a smirk before replying, "Sure."

Craig felt a tickle of nervousness in the back of his mind as he prepared for the next part of his plan.

"Thanks Bebe," He told her in mock-gratitude, "If you could ask Heidi, Nelly and Millie to play too?"

"Alright," the girl nodded, her brow furrowing as she guessed, "I suppose you're choosing the boys?"

"Yeah... I'll pick only the best, don't worry," Craig replied, trying to laugh off her scrutiny before casually asking, "You'll play too, right?"

Her light blue gaze met his, surprised yet glinting with joy, and the boy had to swallow down the bitter taste of his own guilt when she smiled like a cat about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

"If you're playing? Definitely."

With that she flounced off, every movement a showcase of curves and gracefully long legs that Craig had no interest in, that Craig would _never_ have any interest in. He almost felt sorry for her, but before he could fully process whether or not the emotion was there, Tweek elbowed him hard in the side.

"What the _fuck_ was that?? I can't -- I _don't_ want to be a part of this!" He hissed, his amber eyes narrowed to slits, "Use someone else as your excuse to flirt with Bebe Stevens."

"I need Bebe to play for _Clyde_ , not for me," Craig snapped back, keeping his voice down so that Stan's gang wouldn't hear, "And besides, I got Annie invited for you. You should be thanking me."

Tweek blinked at him for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly before he seemed to remember what Craig was talking about and answered with a small, "Oh. Right. Ah, thanks."

The taller boy waved his hand dismissively, taking a large gulp of his drink and moving onto the next phase of his plan; helping Stan. He had come up with this particular facet while watching out of the corner of his eye as the boy had worked in tandem with Kyle to debate with Cartman over his weight, and it was why he had requested that Heidi be invited to play the game.

_Here goes nothing._

"Hey Broflovski, your girlfriend and a few of her friends are wanting to play spin the bottle with me and Clyde," He called out, trying to act as innocent as his level of intoxication would allow while he laid the bait, "Maybe you should come too? Just to keep an eye on her, I mean."

Kyle's shrewd face crinkled up in thought as he listened, the beer in his hand doing nothing to soften the hawkish scrutiny of his gaze. Craig took another sip of his drink before laying down the final piece to his trap.

"If it were _my_ girlfriend, I'd definitely rather be there to see what goes on instead of having to wonder about it later."

He had never had a girlfriend, but no one thought to point that small fact out as Kyle scowled and nodded, finishing off his beer and standing up from the table.

"Okay, I'm in."

Looking suddenly small in the seat beside the one his friend had just vacated, Stan downed the rest of his beer but didn't move, placing the empty bottle back on the table with a clink. Looking over at where Kyle was joining the two boys, his expression was one of such complete misery that Craig had to stop himself from rushing over there to whisper the plan he had into his ear.

"We need one more guy... Marsh, want to play?"

Their eyes met from across the table, and Stan's first narrowed in suspicion then widened as he realised what Craig was doing, rolling them with a smirk and standing up.

"Sure thing, Tucker, _someone_ needs to keep the ladies happy."

_Which won't be **you** Stan, when your spin lands on Kyle and you finally get to show him how you feel._

Ignoring Cartman and Kenny's requests to be included as well, the four of them made their way back to where Clyde was sucking down a thawed jello shot on the bottom step. Token and Jimmy exchanged a perplexed look at the motley crew of boys, but said nothing as they watched them all climb the stairs to Clyde's bedroom, followed shortly by the group of girls.

Everyone clutching a drink, they settled into a circle on the floor and laid down an empty vodka bottle in the centre, tension prickling in the air. Looking around at the other members of their exclusive group, Craig felt the thrum of the alcohol in his veins all the way up to the haze of his brain, wherein a single question came to mind.

_Who's going to be my first kiss?_

The curdling trepidation that bubbled away in the pit of his stomach lurched at the thought, sending his blurred sights flickering away from the faces of his peers and down to his hands, clenched to nervous white-knuckled fists. He knew he should take charge, but found he suddenly couldn't look anyone in the eye, feeling Clyde nudging him with his elbow on one side and Heidi shifting excitedly on his other. Across the circle he could sense the mirror image of his own anxiety in the golden haired boy that had sat directly opposite him, fidgeting between Bebe and Stan.

"Birthday boy goes first,"  Craig finally announced, his voice the nasal deadpan he had so often hid behind in the past.

"Oh damn, the pressure's on," Clyde laughed, reaching forward and sending the bottle spinning with the air of a man playing Russian Roulette.

Ten pairs of eyes watched intently as the clear glass flashed under the lamplight, their pulses speeding up as the empty vessel slowed down to a stop, the open top pointing over to Nelly. Amid the giggles and teasing _"oooOOo"_ s made by the others, the girl stared at it incredulously for a moment, seeming unable to believe that of all the people around the circle it had been _her_ who had been picked, before she tucked a strand of chin-length brown hair behind her ear and shot a quick glance at Bebe.   
                  The blonde girl had gone tight-lipped and pinched, inspecting her beautifully manicured nails instead of meeting her friend's eye, and the poor attempt to pretend she didn't care spread a wide grin over Clyde's face.

"C'mere Nelly," He crooned sweetly, moving forward until he was leaning into the centre of the circle.

After a brief pause, Nelly did the same, reaching out to place her hands on either side of his face and pulling him over to meet her mouth. The sight made something twist anxiously in Craig's gut, and he glanced away while the others laughed and heckled, finding his gaze locking with Millie's from across the circle. She smiled shyly, a pink flush lighting up along the tops of her cheeks, and the knife in the boy's stomach twisted sickeningly again as he looked quickly elsewhere.

"My turn!" Annie called excitedly as Clyde returned to his spot beside her, reaching out and giving the bottle an enthusiastic spin.

It twirled on the floorboards, then drew to a pause pointing at Heidi, earning a collective murmur of surprise from the members of the circle. Annie looked baffled for a moment, while Heidi immediately started blushing and rolling her eyes as she moved forward to the centre.

"Come on Annie, it's just like at my slumber party in Sophomore year," she laughed, and Clyde and Kyle's already excitedly wide eyes seemed to bulge further from their heads at the thought.

"Yeah, hurry up Annie, we haven't got all night," Stan joked in an attempt to play the part of the girl-on-girl coveting straight boy, an act that Craig couldn't help but feel looked awkwardly hollow next to the other two.

Sneaking a glance at Tweek, he was oddly pleased to find that his friend was trying to wring some spilled drink out of the hem of his sage green shirt instead of eagerly watching the girls as they went in for their kiss, showing even less interest in the supposedly "hot" display than Stan was. The sight of the gold-haired boy's twitchy hands pulling and twisting at the soft material of his button-down settled the nervous nausea that had been rising up in Craig's stomach, turning his heartbeat sleepy and relaxed until Clyde whispered from beside him, a hushed observation that sent ice rippling through his veins.

"It's hot watching the girls do it, but man I hope none of the guys' spins land on me; I think I'd rather kiss a toilet seat than another dude."

_Oh._

Craig hadn't truly considered the possibility until Clyde's hushed words found their way into his ear, and it left him so shocked that he barely noticed when Bebe went to take her spin next, her scarlet nails clicking against the glass of the bottle as she sent it whirling around so fast it blurred. His gaze flicked between the object in motion and the boy across the circle from him, whose own amber eyes slid from Bebe over to him in a line of trepidation, as if tracing a connection of interest that left the boy seeming distraught.  
                Bebe's attention was also on Craig when he finally turned his head to look at where she sat beside Tweek, the bright blue of her eyes dark with drunken hope as the bottle began to slow in its twirl. He could feel her silently begging the universe to catch a break, even as the vessel's pace dropped to an agonising crawl, and he wondered briefly if it was too late to make his own request to the powers of fate; that the neck of the bottle would land pointing at Clyde and not himself, despite her desperate wishes.

_I don't want my first kiss to be Bebe. Especially not in front of Clyde._

_Especially not in front of Tweek..._

He didn't know why it mattered suddenly, didn't know why the idea of kissing _any_ of the girls around the circle in front of the blonde boy left him feeling sick with anxiety, but all he knew as his gaze met Tweek's across the space between them was that he didn't want him kissing any of those girls either, that he didn't want his spin landing on anyone except...

"Holy shit it's gonna land on me," Clyde whispered in excitement, his hand pawing ecstatically at Craig's shoulder jolting him out of his own thoughts in time to watch the bottle inching across to point at Clyde.

_Oh thank god --_

Then it went past, easing to a final definite stop with the open top aimed towards himself, glinting cruelly in the light.

_No. **No**..._

He could feel Clyde bristling beside him, could hear the giggles from the girls and the hushed gasp of overjoyed disbelief that Bebe made, and yet it all seemed to fade pale into the background as he looked up towards the boy that sat across from him, his face stricken.

Except the boy was already getting shakily to his feet, looking up and away from those around the circle as he mumbled something about getting another drink. The hand that gestured with the empty cup was curled tight around the plastic, crushing it to red shards that no one noticed as they distractedly waved him off, watching eagerly for drama of the kiss that was about to happen next.   
            Yet Craig noticed, his eyes following Tweek as if drawn by a magnetic force as the boy almost ran from the room. He could feel the straight line to his heart that seemed to always hang in the air between him tug sharply as his friend disappeared from view, and he let it pull him to his feet, let it begin to reel him in towards wherever Tweek would be in the world because the other boy had caught him, hook, line, and sinker.

"Dude, where the fuck are you going?" Clyde snapped, but Craig could barely hear him as he stooped to re-spin the bottle on his way past through the circle, his eyes still on the doorway through which the golden boy had disappeared.

"I just... need to tell Tweek something... just redo that turn, I'll be back in a sec," He mumbled, feeling as if he were in a daze as he stepped past Bebe, the girl open-mouthed with shock, and stumbled out into the hall.

Looking left and right, the fairy-lights resembled glittering constellations as he squinted into the dimness of the corridor, feeling the strobe of the music playing below thumping in time with his heart. His tongue was sticky with bourbon as he formed the shape of Tweek's name on it, speaking so hushed and reverent that he could barely hear it over the sounds around him; an argument breaking out in the room he had just vacated, drunken laughter and singing from downstairs.

There was a silhouette against the string of lights down the end of the hall, small and hunched over as if trying not to be sick. Craig could trace the outline of his spiky hair, could see where the collar of his rumpled shirt stuck up at the side, the vibration of his anxious body against the press of the universe; he knew him in his every detail, even drunken in the dark.

"Tweek," he called again, louder this time as he made his way over, watching the figure's bowed head raise in recognition.

"Craig," the boy answered, his raspy voice cracking on the name, "Go back to the others, it's -- it's okay."

"I'd rather be out here with you."

He was moving towards him all slow and honeyed, each step as if through molasses because for the first time in forever he didn't feel as if all the goodness in the world was slipping away from him; the goodness was right there, ready and waiting with restless hands. Tweek's throat moved as he swallowed, his eyes like liquid gold in the light and falling half-lidded when they met Craig's, as if the sight of him alone was enough to calm the violence of his panic.

_You._

"You're missing your chance to get a kiss," Tweek murmured, drooping against the wall as Craig came to stand toe to toe with him.

The golden boy looked as if he were lit up by stars from the twinkling lights along the wall behind him as he gazed up at Craig, pearlescent teeth coming down to bite into the softness of his own lower lip as he waited for the reply about to drunkenly leave the boy's tongue.

"No I'm not," Craig whispered, and his gaze flicked down to Tweek's mouth for the small breath before he kissed him.

_It's you._

Soft lips against chapped ones, shy and unsure for a single heartbeat between them, then Tweek tipped his head upwards and seemed to melt against him with a soft sound made at the back of his throat. The vibration of it entered Craig mouth and passed through his body, awakening something that had been coiled waiting in the darkness of his gut and pulling it upwards like a ribbon of fire that had him roughly pushing the other boy back against the wall with his fingers fisted around the collar of his shirt.   
                 It was the bloodlust that had been sitting dormant since that first fight out in the snow, except this time with eyes closed, lips parting and teeth momentarily clashing teeth with how much he needed him, how much he'd always needed him. Scented with sweat and the taste of each other's ragged breaths, he knew nothing but the fevered heat of Tweek's mouth against his own, open and wanting. Hands gripping at his waist, pulling him closer, closer, closer, because he could feel the two of them aligning in the crush of body to body; two mismatched pieces that somehow fit seamlessly together against all odds.

The world seemed to shrink to be only formed of the feeling of the golden boy pressed against him, of his fingers tugging through his hair and the sweetness of his tongue. Craig could feel the flutter of Tweek's eyelashes against his cheekbone, the flurry of his pulse quickening when he slid his hands beneath his shirt, tracing them up and over the ridges of his ribcage and relishing in the scorch of his bare skin against his palms.   
                He wanted the heat of him to burn him alive, to char him down to ashes if he must, if only so he could never live to forget the way it felt as Tweek's teeth sunk into his lower lip hard enough to break the skin, only for the lick of his tongue to immediately soothe the sting. He wanted Tweek's mouth on his and his trembling hands cupping his jaw to bring him closer, and he wanted to carry him to his darkened bedroom so he could say something to him from between the sheets.

"Oh my god, what the _fuck??"_

The female voice drove through Craig's chest like an icy blade, hooking through his heart and yanking it out past his spine in a movement that had him stumbling back from Tweek as if he'd been shoved. Everything seemed to be blurring with a sudden surge of panic, his stomach rippling with the urge to be sick.

_What -- what the fuck was I_ **_doing --?_ **

"I can't believe this -- I mean... _him??_ Instead of _me?"_ Bebe continued, her voice high pitched with distress as Craig could for a moment only stare in horror at Tweek's equally shocked face, chilling nausea flooding through him.

_No no no no no this isn't real **this isn't happening** \--_

"Stay out of it Bebe."

It was Stan that had spoken, and at the sound of his slurred voice Craig turned around in despair to see that the boy was gently trying to pull Bebe away by her wrist, his dark eyes affixed on the two boys they had just caught entangled together. Behind them was Clyde, his face gone grey with shock and his eyes glassy when they met Craig's, as if he were looking at a stranger.

_No no no no no no they can't have seen anything -- please **no** \--_

"There's... there's nothing to stay out of," He rushed to explain, hearing his own words come out shrill and panicked as the world seemed to dissolve around him, "Nothing happened. It's not what it looked like."

_It wasn't me -- it was the alcohol, it was Tweek -- I'm not_ **_like_ ** _that --_

_"Really?_ Because it _looked_ like you were making out with him, Craig," Bebe snapped, her own shock quickly dissolving into contempt.

_No I wasn't --_ **_I fucking wasn't_ ** _\--_

"You're a lying bitch! _You're fucking lying!"_ He shouted back, temper flaring up hot and red from within him until his vision was tinted with it, his body lunging forward.

"Dude -- _dude!_ Craig it's okay," Stan tried to placate him, stepping in to grab him only for Craig to violently shove him off.

"No it isn't!" He snapped, feeling his throat swollen so thick he could barely get the words out past it, "I'm not a -- a _fucking fag_ like him!"

The sharp intake of breath that Tweek made from behind him sent a shard of self-loathing through Craig's chest, but yet he didn't turn, _couldn't_ turn to look into the other boy's eyes. Feeling his rage like an electric current in his veins as he instead kept his gaze locked with Stan's, his voice lowered into a venomous snarl.

"I'm not a fag like _you_."

Stan went pale, mouth open yet speechless, and Craig shoved past him, past Bebe then Clyde and down the stairs with his hands clutched to the front of his jacket, right over the area where his heart would be if he wasn't now so sure it'd been replaced with an aching hole.

"Craig!" Tweek called out, his voice a broken sound echoing behind him, but the boy was already pushing his way past Jimmy and Token to the door, his body dissolving into icy numbness as he silently demanded to know why it was that when his life had finally fallen apart it had been under the touch of his own foolish hands.

He needn't have fretted; it'd be the world that came down next, with the bridges he'd just burnt lighting the way.

 

 


	23. The Asshole and the Snow Angel

_\- in which a score is settled -_

The door thudded hard against the side of the house as it swung open under his violent hand, causing the windows to shudder in their frames and the strobing music behind him to flood out into the front yard. As he took the stairs in one long-legged leap, the boy could feel the eyes of the partygoers nearest to the door still burning against his skin as they watched him, even with his back turned, even if his eyes were shut.

_They didn't see anything... they don't **know** anything._

He tried to console himself with the thought, but as he listened to an indistinct murmuring of conversation start up behind him he was suddenly no longer sure whether it was true. The same sense of terrible dread he'd felt earlier bubbled up inside him, thick and black as tar, until he was no longer sure anything he'd thought he understood was true anymore; not him, not his friends, and definitely not Tweek.

_Tweek..._

He could still feel the warmth of his lips like a ghost against his own, the faintest trace of a sensation that he was never meant to know. It prickled in the cold, the lingering taste of the blackcurrant punch the blonde-haired boy had been drinking still sweet on his tongue. For a moment he let the memory surface within the chaos of his mind, rising up through the layers of murk and confusion to form the silhouette of Tweek in the hallway, haloed by the lights behind him. He could see him as vividly as if he were reliving it, the boy's shoulder's hunched, hands clutched to the front of his shirt, then the red static was back and sending him striding out into the night with every breath frosting the air in front of him.

_That wasn't me. That wasn't what I wanted._

The snow was thin underfoot, crunching through to the dying grass beneath with every angry step he took across Clyde's front lawn, but new flakes were beginning to slowly drift down to collect in the footprints he left behind. A couple landed on his face, like two icy kisses that melted immediately to moisture, and he brushed them angrily away with the back of his hand.

_It **can't** have been what I wanted._

From somewhere behind him the door thudded against the side of the house as it was pushed open once more, then there was the patter of running footsteps landing atop the snow.

"Craig! Please, wait!"

At the sound of Tweek's panicked voice, Craig merely hunched his shoulders and continued walking, scowling out at the neighbourhood ahead. He wanted to be back at home in his bed, the covers drawn up and over his skull until not a part of him existed in the world outside that cocoon of warmth. He wanted to have never agreed to come to Clyde's party, to have never invited Tweek Tweak, to have never let a single drink pass his lips and if it had then to at least have been able to hold his head.

To at least not now know how his tongue tasted.

He felt pathetic as he found himself drunkenly wishing that none of this had ever happened, wishing that he'd never met the blonde-haired boy at all so that he didn't have to now walk away feeling like maybe for a moment he had filled the big numb echo in the middle of him.

"Craig," Tweek called again, but softly this time, from less than a meter behind him. There was something so sad in his voice that Craig paused mid step, his jaw clenching against the way the words broke halfway.

"What?" He snapped, tone blunt and cold to the point of injury as he turned to face the other boy, hands balled into fists.

Tweek twitched in fright, blinking hard as he opened his mouth to respond yet Craig found he didn't want him to. He didn't want to hear that same sad voice again, didn't want to feel it pierce through the shield of his sternum and make him sorry for what he'd said. In the fraction of a second it took for the other boy to figure out what to say, the ice in the pit of his stomach warped from guilt to hate.

_This is all **your** fault._

Snowflakes were collecting in the soft gold tufts of Tweek's hair, one melting against the raw-bitten pink of his lower lip, and to even look at him was like looking at something too delicate to be touchable; the whisper thin strands of a downy feather, the dust across a moth wing. It made Craig's eyes burn, standing in front of him there in the snow, and he didn't understand why but as soon as the boy began to speak he found himself stepping forward and shoving him away, _hard._

Maybe it was for some breathing space; maybe it was just to see if he was so untouchable after all.

"You got a fucking problem, man?" Craig growled, watching Tweek stumble back but remain standing. A scowl darkened the blonde boy's features, like a cloud passing over the moon.

" _You're_ the one with the fucking problem," He shot back, temper visibly flaring in the flush that was spreading down his cheeks and neck.

Over Tweek's narrow shoulder Craig could see Bebe Stevens and her friends had followed them outside to see the commotion, and he felt his stomach twist as he watched Token stepping out through the doorway with Clyde and Jimmy in tow.

_Oh_ **_great_ ** _, an audience -_

The sarcastic thought was interrupted as the boy in front of him moved forward again, and Craig's hands flashed up to propel him backwards once more before he even had time to think. His rough palms pressed violently to a chest vibrating in anger, and Tweek's perfect teeth flashing in a snarl as he pushed back at the buffeting force with a shove of his own.

Just like in elementary school, Craig found himself taken by surprise at the other boy's strength. Thrown off balance and still more than a little tipsy, he stepped back and skidded in the wet slush of the snow at their feet, catching himself on Clyde's letterbox to keep from falling. It made a loud clang that rang out into the hush, and when he looked up he was distantly horrified to see Stan's gang had joined the spectators on the front lawn, eyes glittering with malicious interest.

Tweek was still standing with his fists balled, seemingly unaware of the shameful spectacle of it all as he twitched and fizzed with anger. It reminded Craig of an aspirin dropped in water; all of that effort to remain under control, to stand back from the line that would push him to panic, dissolving into nothing at one careless action.   
_His_ careless actions, he realised ashamedly, and tasted the guilt so sour across his tongue that he had to spit it out. With pursed lips he did so, the gob of saliva and malice landing at Tweek's feet. It glistened in the snow between them.

The blonde boy stared at it in hurt surprise, then his mouth was opening angrily and Craig couldn't bear to hear what he had to say so he beat him to the punch.

"Stay a hundred yards from me!"

His voice was raised, carrying across the front lawn and echoing back at him over and over again until he was sure the entire world had heard the vulnerability in it. Tweek furiously shook his head, mouth a hard line.

"You better not fucking push me again, man," The boy advised, each word ground out through clenched teeth and carrying the threat of all that pent up emotion reaching it's boiling point.

"Or _what?_ You'll cry? Have another panic attack?" Craig sneered, watching as the boy flinched and glared at the cruelty of the jibe.

Behind them both, Cartman lounged against the front of the house, raising a half-drunk beer to his smirking mouth. Like a cat pouncing, he called out into the breath before the storm started; the thunder that heralds a lightning strike.

"Oh _god_ you guys, _get a room_."

Tweek snapped.

With a cry of unbridled rage he lunged forward, all fire and fury with no care for self preservation. His fist connected with Craig's nose in a crush of bright white pain and then the rest of his body was slamming against him, shorter but by no means weaker as the boy knocked the air from his lungs.  
             He landed hard back against the letterbox, the resounding clang stirring a provoking _"oooOoOoh"_ from the crowd whilst Craig could only gasp breathlessly and grab back at the other boy, red static overcoming all other senses. Blood began to drip hot and thick from his already swelling nose, seeping between his closed lips and spreading the taste of rust across his tongue. In a split second he was yanking Tweek up by his shirtfront, hands fisted in the well-worn green cloth until their eyes were level and meeting for a moment across the violence between them. Chests heaving, blue eyes on amber, then Tweek was kicking out at Craig's shin with his grubby sneaker hard enough to cause the leg to give out underneath him.

Snow soaked wet into the leg of his jeans as he fell to one knee, pain lancing up the limb whilst the fabric in his hands was yanked down so forcefully that the buttons popped open down the length of Tweek's chest.

"Fuck... you," Craig hissed out, looking up at his opponent with his cheeks burning at the sight of the boy's forcefully opened shirt, the swathe of exposed skin raising with goosebumps against the cold.

Tweek leant forward, stooping to his level with his face still contorted in an uncharacteristically venomous scowl.

"Really, Craig? _Fuck_ me?" He repeated pointedly, then added in a murmur so low that only the boy at his feet would hear it, "... and to think you called _me_ a fucking fag."

Everything went red, the words blurring anger hot and opaque across Craig's vision. The world seemed to click in and out of existence, to glitch in time and steal the memory of what exactly happened the moment after Tweek had spoken. All he knew was one second he was down on one knee at his feet and the next he was tackling him to the ground a few metres away, shoving the gold-haired boy's face into the snow and yelling incomprehensibly.

"I'm not I'M NOT I'M NOT _I'M NOT_ -"

Tweek's shrieking reply was entirely muffled as his face was scrubbed into the frigid white of the ground, the shards of ice grating against his face until they were smeared with a bright shade of crimson from his grazed cheeks. The boy's thrashing limbs battered against Craig's body, chaotic and ineffectual at breaking the death grip until a bony elbow was jabbed into his windpipe.   
With a strangled sound Craig fell back, hands flying to his throat as he gasped for air past the pain. Heart thudding hard behind his ribs, he stared dazedly upwards to the stars overhead before the view was abruptly torn away as his incensed opponent lunged for him.

"I didn't _ask_ for this!"

Distantly he could hear the watching crowd catcalling and taking bets, of Clyde yelling out his name, but it was pale in comparison to the cacophony of their kicking, screaming, and rolling around. Of the crack of his fist meeting Tweek's jaw and the snap of those perfect teeth coming together in a shattering collision; of his own snarl of pain and fury as his opponent's knee was driven sickeningly hard into his stomach. He responded by grabbing a handful of soft blonde hair and tugging it viciously enough to make the other boy shriek.

"Oh yeah! _Dominate_ him, Craig!" Someone shouted, and the boy thought it might be Cartman but never got a chance to see as the brief distraction gave Tweek the chance to squirm out of the headlock he'd tried to trap him in.

"Go Tweek! Break his fucking nose!" Kyle rallied, always wanting to be at odds with his obese sort-of-friend, and Craig tried not to roll his eyes as he heard Stan yell out in agreement. 

_Traitor._

Tweek was above him, sitting on his chest with gritted teeth and trying to restrain his arms as he jerked and writhed below. The weight made each of his heaving breaths feel harder to draw into his lungs, his mouth full of blood and opening to pant as he finally gave in and looked up into the face of the boy he'd never managed to beat.

It all just ended in a stalemate with them, it always would; whether they were nine years old or seventeen, whether it was a planned fight or a drunken brawl, everything would all end in busted lips and broken noses. Lying there on his back in the snow, Craig looked up into Tweek's flushed face and saw it all in it's every pointless detail, in its constellations of freckles that were now marred with bloodied grazes and the gold in his eyes, in the dip before the end of his nose and the scar above his lip from their very first fight that had etched a silver line up his skin. In that visage he saw exactly why he had gone still, why he was waiting for Tweek to let go of his wrists and finish it once and for all.   
                He wanted a mark. He wanted a broken nose that healed forever crooked, or a scar just like Tweek's. Just something, anything, that was left behind after all of it was over, after everything was said and done. Something irrefutable to forever remind him that this had meant something once, even if only for a short while. Something to say, _"Tweek Tweak was here"_ and that Craig had been worth enough to the boy for him to fight.

That Craig had been worth anything at all.

The boy above him looked down at him with his eyes blazing, his brow furrowing as his tongue came to lick his front teeth in sudden disbelief, lip bulging momentarily with the movement. Then one of his hands released the wrist it held captive, and he spat something small and pearly onto the open palm.

A piece of his tooth.

The two of them stared at it in horror in the moonlight, glistening with bloodied spittle and shaking as the hand it sat atop trembled.

Craig was in shock, dark eyes wide as he tried to meet the other boy's gaze, tried to think of what to say that could possibly erase the defeated look written across his usually so animated face. When he finally opened his mouth he was silenced by Tweek's hand curling into a fist around the broken tooth, flinching as he waited for the punch to land.

No punch came, only a rasping voice that fell flat and miserable into the night air.

"I was -- I was wrong. You may not be emotionless, but you  _are_  violent and cold, Craig," Tweek told him, unable to meet his eye as he murmured, "You think not caring about how you treat people makes you strong, but it doesn't. It just makes you selfish, and cruel."

Although quiet and resigned, each word fell so painfully against him that Craig felt for a moment maybe he _had_ been sucker-punched after all as Tweek got achingly to his feet, his warmth leaving the place he'd been sitting on Craig's chest quick enough to make the skin sting in the sudden cold. When the blonde-haired boy looked back down at him, shirt ripped open and hanging filthy off one shoulder, there was nothing except sadness in his eyes, as if he were about to tell him an overdue goodbye.

"I didn't ask you to hold my hand," Tweek addressed him once more, voice clear and firm in a way Craig had never heard before, "Or pull me along into your twisted game tonight. I never asked you to hug me, or kiss the top of my head, but you did it anyway because you couldn't figure out what you wanted so you never thought to ask me what _I_ wanted."

Everyone from the party was still listening in and Craig felt his cheeks burn red in embarrassment at having it all laid out there for the world to pick through, to make it ugly with their judgement. He could hear them muttering amongst themselves from where he lay in the slush of snow, mud, and ripped up turf, his once-blue jacket splattered and freezing against the bruised body beneath.

"What the fuck _did_ you want then, Tweek?" Craig heard himself ask in a sigh, voice flinty with barely concealed resentment.

The boy had already begun to turn away from him, but he looked back at the sound of his voice and bared his teeth in the mocking pretence of a smile. The newly created chip in his right incisor was painfully obvious even in the half-light, and Craig flinched at the sight.

"To be your friend," Tweek snapped in frustration, then continued quickly before there could be a reply, "But not anymore."

"Why?" Craig asked, focusing on making the word sound uncaring instead of miserable. It only half worked.

"Because I thought you were _The Boy With the Thorn in His Side_ , but you're not," Tweek sighed, already walking away across the lawn as Craig began to struggle and sit up, staring out at him until he looked back one final time to utter, "The thorns grow from _you_ , and I -- I was the stupid fool who got close enough to be hurt."

Then his gaze left Craig, still sitting there in the muddy snow, and the boy watched with his hand clutched to his chest as Tweek turned and walked out into the empty road, hair flashing gold beneath the streetlights. He could feel someone shaking him roughly by the shoulder, then Clyde's worried voice close by his ear, but it felt like it was coming from underwater. All that existed was the figure receding into the mist at the end of the street, their shoulders squared and head dipped towards the ground.

"Dude, you're shaking," Clyde was saying as he crouched down, his hand falling warm against Craig's shoulder and turning him so that they were eye to eye.

"No I'm not," He heard himself saying with chattering teeth, but the age old denial routine didn't work when your voice comes out cracked and broken.

"Yes, you are," Clyde rebutted, rolling his eyes even as he helped pull the sodden boy to his feet, brushing snow and blades of grass from his jacket as if on reflex.

Craig barely felt the caring hands, mouth dry and still tasting of blood as he looked between his friend's worried face and the ones that watched from the house. Bebe was stricken, her face white with shock, but Millie, Heidi and Wendy were looking at him like he was a monster. Token was striding out towards him with a towel in his hands, face set grim with disappointed concern, and behind him Craig could see Jimmy doing his best to shepherd the onlookers back inside with his crutches.

"N-n-nothing to see here, f-folks, the party's back inside."

Craig waited for the gratitude to bring back some warmth to the hollowness of his insides, but the static wasn't listening and he could only stare blank-faced and silent as his friends tried to clean up the mess he had landed himself in.

_I don't deserve them. I deserve nothing._

"Well, apart from the fag-a-tronics, that was pretty entertaining, Craig," Cartman jeered from where he and the rest of Stan's gang stood refusing to move from the front of the house, his grin like a Cheshire Cat's in the dark as he added, "My favourite part was when you whitewashed your boyfriend's face into the snow so hard he bled."

"He's _not_ _my boyfriend_ ," Craig growled in response, temper flaring so hot and terrifying that he found himself angrily swatting away Clyde's hands, then ducking back from Token when he tried to put the dry towel around his all too wet shoulders.

_He's not my_ **_anything_ ** _anymore._

He wanted to punch Cartman's face in, wanted to throttle his thick and flabby neck until he agreed to take back the words, but instead he found himself stepping away from them all with his eyes darting back and forth like a caged animal. There they were, Clyde looking hurt and Token reproachful, with Jimmy pausing mid-motion in his attempt to usher an immovable Stan inside, his face openly sceptical. Cartman smirking like the cat that got the cream, and before anyone could speak, the rotund boy was opening his mouth once more to deliver a final provocation.

"Jesus Christ, you're so moody Craig, what's up your _ass_ tonight?"

A breath, then the punchline.

"Other than Tweek's dick, that is."

Everyone turned in anticipation to Craig, eyes wide with expectancy for the brutal ass-kicking he was surely about to give the relentless douchebag, yet all they saw was the boy continue to back away. He reached the pavement, feeling his foot hit the unyielding surface exactly as Clyde called his name out like a question into the frigid night air.

"Craig?"

_I don't know who the fuck that is anymore._

The thought was the last clear thing that flashed through his head before he turned and ran, sprinting down the street past his house and onwards. Away from Cartman's high pitched laughter echoing behind him, away from his friends with their concerned faces contorting with suspicion, and away from both his and Tweek's blood mixed into the mud and the snow.

His breath was fire in his lungs and his legs began to burn but he kept running out and into the big darkness ahead just so he didn't have to think, just so he didn't have to feel a damn thing.


	24. Untouchable

_\- in which the world ends, one bitter fragment at a time -_

He didn't stop running until he reached Stark's Pond, slick with sweat and heaving for air as he collapsed at the top of the pebbled bank and dared go no further. Vision flickering, throat raw from ragged breaths and the unforgivable words he'd shouted that night, he began to retch violently, coughing and choking on his hands and knees like the animal he felt he had become. Bourbon and bile coming up his throat black and biting, so sour that it erased the taste of his blood, his sweat, and the sweet lingering remnants of Tweek.   
                     He was sick until there was nothing left within him but the emptiness he had created, and when he looked out towards the darkness of the water he wondered why he'd ever bothered saving Stan Marsh from sinking beneath it; surely he should have joined him, descending down to the thick mud at the very bottom of everything and letting his body fall to bone.

Yet he didn't enter the water, didn't cry or crawl closer nor beg the stars for forgiveness; he went home. Did not speak another word, not even a whispered "hello" when his mom cheerfully asked how the party went, nor an explanation when she saw the sodden filth soaked into his clothing and tried to coax out of him what had happened. He found he couldn't look at her, especially not when she went to hug him and he flinched away from the touch, ducking beneath her outstretched arms and hurrying up the stairs to the darkness of his bedroom. He didn't shower, didn't change clothes, didn't stir from beneath the covers of his bed when she came to stand in the doorway and tell him she loved him, to tell him how worried she was, to beg that he said something, _anything._

He didn't; he'd learnt from his father a long time ago that if one remained silent for long enough, even the indomitable Laura Tucker would eventually give up.

Sleep came fitfully, pulling him in and out of the world until the night was over and Saturday morning dawned over South Park, sending grey fingers of light through the gap in his curtains. Turning away from it, he ran his tongue along the crooked row of his front teeth and thought disdainfully of Tweek's perfect set.

_Not so perfect anymore; I made sure of that._

With nausea rising up through the centre of him, he called down the Numbness with the tug of his blanket being pulled back over his head, curling in on himself like an infant until the bliss of unconsciousness came to claim him once more.

Every now and then he was awoken by the sound of his cellphone vibrating from where he'd left it on the floor, announcing calls he missed and didn't bother to check to see who they'd been from. When the device finally ran out of battery, the callers switched to the home phone, and he listened idly as either Tricia or his mom would answer in the kitchen downstairs, their initial greeting almost immediately shifting to indistinct murmurs that were doubtlessly about him.

"Sweetheart, Jimmy, Token, and Clyde have all called to ask after you," His mom told him from the doorway a few minutes after the third call, her voice gentle, "They want you to call them back when you're feeling better."

_I'm fine._

She lingered a moment longer, then finally left when no reply came, her worried sigh so soft into the empty hallway beyond the boy's room that he wasn't wholly sure he'd heard it. He opened his eyes, crusty with dried sweat and sleep, and stared at the space she'd just vacated until he was certain she was gone, then eased his aching body from beneath the covers.

There was a grimy damp patch on the sheets where he'd been lying, the wetness of his clothes having seeped into everything they touched, but he merely shrugged at the sight; he'd made his bed, he'd now lie in it. Limping to the door, he quietly closed it and wedged his desk chair beneath the handle to prevent it being opened again, before stripping down to his underwear and getting back into bed. Lying on his back in the dark, he pressed his fingers against the bruises coming up black and ugly across his pale skin, poking at them until the pain didn't seem real anymore.

_They're going to tear me apart on Monday._

Eyes closed tight, he laughed hollowly at the thought. It came out as a choking sob.

 

It was Sunday when Clyde tried to visit, standing outside the barricaded door and knocking tentatively. He received no response, and after waiting in silence for an extended period of time he began to speak to the wooden panel separating them, his voice quiet and tainted with confusion.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me? I'm your best friend, you could have told me."

Within the stale-aired confines of his bedroom, Craig stared up at the ceiling with his hands clutched over the hole where his heart should have been, gritting his teeth against the way it was aching.

"I always tell you everything, dude, and in return you've been hiding... er,  _this_ from me," Clyde continued, his tone one of wounded pride and worry, "You didn't have to go through this alone."

"I haven't been hiding _anything_. I don't even know what you're talking about," Craig growled heavenward, frowning at the way his voice had become hoarse from lack of use.

"I'm talking about you and Tweek."

"There is _nothing_ going on between me and him," He spat back, feeling his pulse racing at the mere mention of the other boy's name.

"Craig, it's _okay_ , you can tell me," Clyde tried to reason gently, but the boy was beyond the realm of rationality as he burrowed under his covers with his hands pressed over his ears in an effort to block out his friend's care.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Have you even spoken to Twe--"

"The next time I speak to that twitchy freak it'll be to give him a ten second running head-start before I kill him," Craig said flatly, interrupting his friend before he could finish repeating the name he wasn't sure he could bear to hear a second time.

The violent words echoed into silence, prickling thickly with the static of Craig's own insatiable numbness as Clyde slumped defeatedly against the other side of the door.

"It's okay that you like him, Craig. It's nothing to be ashamed of," He finally sighed, placing an unseen hand up against the timber as he finished, "The only thing that'd make it shameful was if you kept lying to yourself about it."

"Go fuck yourself Clyde."

Curled up in the crushing darkness of his bedroom, Craig waited for a reply for far longer than he wished to admit before realising that Clyde was gone. Getting the last word hadn't felt victorious; it'd felt like biting the hand that fed and being left pining for food into the fathomless loneliness he alone had created.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

"I can't go. I just -- I just can't, okay?"

He was sitting in bed, face pale and childlike with terror as he looked up at his mom from where she stood by the doorway, her arms crossed and her face gone grim with seriousness.

"Look Craig, I don't know how badly that party went - mostly because you won't tell me," She answered calmly, a steely edge to her voice, "But the only thing worse than showing up at school today, is not showing up at all. You'd be at home worrying all day, and then it'd be even harder to go back tomorrow."

"What if I just never went back?" The boy suggested desperately, earning himself a sigh.

"You promised you'd stay until graduation, munchkin," His mom reminded him gently, her face lined with tired disappointment, "Life doesn't get easier for people that run away from things; it just gets emptier."

Those words found him hugging his schoolbag to his chest in the backseat of her car twenty minutes later, Tricia sitting shotgun and playing with the radio. He'd been forced into showering, then provided with clean dry clothes like a child still needing dressing, and yet he felt as if the filth from Clyde's party was still somehow stained to his skin as his mom pulled up outside the school gates. The bus they had missed had just arrived, and students were flooding out in a chattering cloud.

_They'll call me "fag" and "queer" and every other cruel name they can think of, and the boys will beat the shit out of me while every girl I ever ignored the attentions of will watch and laugh._

"You've always been so brave, sweetheart," Laura Tucker told him, twisting her body so as to look back at where he sat huddled behind her, "It won't be as bad as you think."

She was right, but not in the way she intended.

When Craig finally swallowed the lump in his throat he'd been choking to try and breathe past, he slid out of the car and shoved his hands into the pockets of the sherpa jacket she had laid out on his bed for him that morning. Hoping that the foreign item of clothing would help camouflage him, he bowed his head and joined the tide of his peers that were dawdling through the gates, searching for a free space to enter through.   
               Yet even where there had been no room at all he found the crowd opening up, as if pushed away by some unseen physical forcefield around him. He moved through them untouched and untroubled, the gazes he met almost instantly flicking away to look elsewhere, the students nearest to him opting to stop dead in their tracks or bump into others instead of entering the three foot bubble of empty space around him.

Laura Tucker had been right, it wasn't bad the way he'd thought it would be; it was much worse. A catcalled name he could deny, a punch he could return in full force, yet he could do nothing to defend himself from the disgusted silence that followed his path through the crowd, the revulsion in their eyes and their enforced distance becoming like a quarantine zone around a leper.

Bile burned at the back of his throat, acidic next to the dry spread of anxiety across his palate as he hunched his shoulders and redirected his path from one that took him to the main doors of the school to instead take him down the side of the building, where he stood leaning against the frosted brickwork. Eyes closed and head bowed, he tried his best to breathe deeply, hands pressed to his stomach as if trying to hold his guts in after a stab wound to the abdomen.

_Easy, easy._

When the main crowd from the bus had entered without him, he slipped in through the entrance behind them with his head bowed. Gaze on his feet, when he finally looked up he was surprised to find there weren't as many people from his year as usual loitering by the lockers that lined the hallways. What few individuals there were watched him as he passed, whispering and murmuring in a way that set Craig's teeth on edge.

Yet that was only before he heard the echoing laughter and loud conversation coming from the far-off end of the hall, where a crowd seemed to have gathered. Pulse quickening, a coldly foreboding feeling sent a chill down the length of the boy's spine, piercing every vertebrae with fear as he cautiously approached.

Up ahead, a great mob of students clamoured and pushed towards the school notice board that took up the wall at the T-intersection between the cafeteria and classrooms, jostling to try and get a look at it. Troublingly, they seemed to mostly all be his own peers, snorting with cruel laughter and jeering with excitement when they saw Craig coming towards them.

"You better not get a boner when we're getting changed for gym class today, Tucker," Bill sneered, jostling him as he walked past out of the crowd.

"You sick fuck, perving on us all these years," Fosse added, "You're lucky I don't break your jaw right now."

Dodging the oncoming secondary shoulder barge, Craig didn't respond, barely hearing them over the roaring of the blood in his ears, the thud thud thud of his heart beating itself bloody against his sternum as he saw what they were all crowded around; an A3 sized poster, printed out on hot pink paper. From his position on the outskirts of the crowd he could just make out the header that read: _'The Pleases and Sparkles Committee presents...'_

"It makes so much sense, I mean, he rejected _Bebe_ ," Annie muttered to Heidi and Red as he sidled past them, and he flinched away, beginning to push through the bodies blocking the way with more and more urgency.

"We should have just asked some of the _boys_ when we thought no one had ever kissed him," Red replied snidely, making sure Craig heard even now that he had his back to them, "Hey Craig, where do you think Tweek would rank you on the Kiss List?"

"From the looks of that fight on Friday night I'd say he failed that test too," Heidi scoffed.

_Shut up Shut Up SHUT UP SHUT UP --_

The anger he felt was lost in a sickening lurch of panic as he saw the title of the poster pinned to the notice board, and his vision went blurry as he stopped to reread it from afar, squinting to make sure he'd seen it right.

_No..._

His mask of blank-faced nonchalance rippled with the beginning signs of his internal distress, all rational thoughts dissolving into the animalistic need to get to the poster as he pushed his way through the crowd. Facing away from the intruder in their midst, as soon as the other students turned to see it was him they mostly smirked cruelly and stepped aside, still unwilling to touch him yet so much less afraid to look him in the eye now that he was so clearly rattled; all of them eager to see if the infamously impassive Craig Tucker would be broken at last.

When he got to the front, he stopped dead, staring at the full contents of the poster that was pinned neatly for all to see.

_"The Pleases and Sparkles Committee Presents..._

_Boys Most Likely to be Closeted Homosexuals :_

_1\. Craig Tucker_   
_2\. Tweek Tweak"_

And that was all. No attempts made to name any other contenders, no mercy in their method of presentation. Craig shoved the laughing Juniors aside and tore the pink poster from the notice board, sending thumbtacks skittering in a metallic spray onto the floor and rolling through the crowd. The paper crumpled in his white-knuckled fist as he caught sight of Tweek at the edge of the shameless mob, his face pale and flinching with horror.

"Look Twitchy, your boyfriend's come to rescue you," DogPoo Petuski sneered, coming up behind Tweek and clapping a hand on his narrow shoulder before leaning in close to hiss, "How _sweet_."

Tweek's eyes found Craig in the crowd as if drawn by magnetism, yet when their gazes met there was nothing for the boy to find in their amber depths except anger. Then Tweek was shoving DogPoo savagely away from him, teeth gritted with a wordless snarl. His newly chipped incisor made the expression seem feral, the glint in his eyes like fire, yet the more solid boy stumbled back only one step, too surefooted to fall as he grinned like the reaction he'd gotten out of his victim were a gift.

"Where did Craig even have to look to find a little faggot freak like _you?"_ He asked, sniggering with all his stained teeth on full display.

"Shut that festering hole of a mouth before I shove my fist down your throat."

For all his nervous twitching and shyness, Tweek was terrifying when he was full of fury. The venom contained in the seething reply he spat towards DogPoo was strong enough that even the infamously thick-skinned boy paused, his smirk faltering momentarily. Overhead, the bell for the first class of the day rang out as if on cue, and Craig watched in dazed wonder as Tweek's shaking hands ineffectually tugged at his collar in an attempt to straighten it before he turned to leave the expectant crowd, shoulders set and gaze refusing to meet his own.

Yet his tormentor had other ideas.

"Now now now, not so fast, sweetheart," DogPoo admonished in his eloquent manner of speech, the voice at odds with the dirt-streaked face it belonged to as he grabbed Tweek by his shirt and pulled him back to him, "You know I can't let you leave without putting on your warning label."

There was a sharpie in one of his grimy hands, the same one that had been used to scrawl the word _"FAG"_ on Butters' forehead multiple times since the homophobic feud between them that had started back in January; one which was no doubt forgotten now that alternative targets for his cruelty had been found. Knowing what was coming next just as well as Craig did, Tweek growled and thrashed to break free from DogPoo's grip, whilst two of the other Junior boys, Terrance and Jason, stepped forward to help hold him still.

The pink poster was still a crumpled ball in Craig's hand as he launched himself through the crowd, acting on the command that was communicated to him by the desperate tremor of his heart; _protect Tweek, at any costs_. It was Morse Code in his ears and pulsing through every vein in his body, sending him shoving himself through a blur of past friends and new foes alike to collide with DogPoo from side-on.

_**Thud.** _

Skull landing forcefully on skull, the resounding crack of bone to bone echoed down the length of Craig's body as he slammed the front of his head against the other boy's a split second after their bodies crashed together, bouncing back from the blow whilst the force of his momentum send DogPoo sprawling. The bloodthirsty mob around them exploded with noise in reaction to the violence as pain flared white-hot and blinding in the space behind Craig's eyes, the boy stumbling a step back in a moment of recovery that was just long enough to give Jason and Terrance time to react.  
               Shouting in surprised anger, they flung Tweek like a ragdoll into the row of lockers beside them with a loud clang and advanced on Craig as their previous victim let out a cry and crumpled to the floor.

"You're gonna regret that, faggot!"

_I'm not I'm NOT I'M NOT --_

"No I won't," Craig spat back, feeling that same red static bubble up from within him as he dropped the crumpled poster and readied his fists, "But I'll make sure you fucking regret calling me that."

_I'm going to knock their teeth out and make them swallow them, I'm going to smear them across the walls --_

"Boys, wait!"

It was DogPoo, laboriously getting to his feet and stepping in between the three of them with his palms raised. Caught off-guard, Craig blinked as the scarlet clouding his vision dissipated, and he halted his violent advance towards his adversaries.

Back to Craig, DogPoo murmured something that sounded like "save it for later" to his two friends before he turned and flashed a yellow stained smile in his direction.

"I'd fight you Tucker, but didn't you hear? Marsh and his gang are going to sort you out. Apparently Cartman has been planning something for forever."

There was a chilling edge of threat that bristled beneath the surface of the mockingly-friendly tone he spoke in, his eyes dark with contempt as the filthy boy sneered and raised a hand in a cheery wave of farewell. He turned and left without another word, joining the dispersing crowd whilst Terrance and Jason followed after with matching scowls of pure hatred shot one last time towards where Craig stood frowning.

_Surely that's just an empty threat... I mean, Cartman couldn't possibly think he could hurt me. Not about this._

A soft groan nearby broke him from his thoughts, and he jolted with guilt and self loathing as he turned to see Tweek struggling to sit up, holding the side of his head where a lump was already beginning to swell from where he'd struck the metal door of the locker. Tongue going dry with sudden nerves, Craig cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning down to offer the blonde boy a hand.

"That looks like a nasty bump... you okay?"

His voice scratched painfully as he spoke, yet the cringe of discomfort he felt was nothing compared to the sting of watching Tweek jerk away from the offered hand, flinching back from it as if it might burn him even as he snarled out a warning.

"Don't fucking touch me."

It was said with wrath and fire, each word dropped like a stone from his chapped lips until Craig felt he had enough to line his pockets with next time he found himself down by Stark's Pond. His own useless mouth stayed silent in surprise as he shifted backwards in retreat from the verbal blow, searching desperately within himself for the hatred he'd felt towards the other boy whilst bedridden that weekend and finding only hatred for himself instead.

Maybe that's what it always had been.

Watching Tweek shakily get to his feet, he wanted to say his name, to call out for him and say he was sorry, but he was too much of a coward to find the courage to make the sound. In silence he gazed after the figure that strode trembling yet strong into the dwindling stream of students making their way to class down the corridor, listening to the patter of his useless heart and wishing he had never learned how much it could ache.

_But I don't like him, I'll **never** like him and if I hadn't been drunk then I'd **never** have made the stupid mistake of kissing him. I wouldn't have. _

_I just want my friend back; w_ _hat a useless thing to wish for._

So he pushed it from his mind, walking naked to the whispers and the silence, no shields needed to be held up because none attacked; he was the monster that couldn't even so much as see it's own reflection in the eyes of those who dared to look upon it without fear. Conversation died and turned to stifled laughs and murmurs as he entered classrooms, having to walk past rows of scrutinising stares to get to his table up the back and sit alone, gazing out the window.

It was just like old times, and yet now it didn't quite fit, as if it were a shed skin he had now grown too big to hide back inside. No matter how much he tried to lose himself in the world beyond the glass pane, he would find himself again the second he realised his attention had drifted back to the jittering blonde boy in the front row of every class.

From his seat up the back he would watch as Tweek's hands tugged at his hair with grumbling distress every time a crumpled-up note was thrown at him when the teacher's back was turned, trembling fingers flicking them off his desk without ever reading them. When Craig picked them up after each class, he smoothed them out and stood alone in the classrooms squinting at the different scrawls as he deciphered them one by one.

_"FAG"_ written in angry block letters.

_"Are you homo too or is it just Craig? You didn't seem to be into him at all at the party"_ marked in girlishly decorative script, a bubble dotting every 'i'.

_"Cartman told me to tell you he is going to kill you and your boyfriend, fag"_ in childish hand.

They were all the same hate, just in different lettering. Only one that he found after English class truly caught his attention, written on familiar baby pink stationary in a neat cursive he remembered having read before.

_"I'm so sorry for the list the girls made. I told them not to do it, but no one would listen."_

He read it twice, frowning in confusion as his brain supplied the answer much faster than he himself was willing to comprehend.

_Wendy?_

The apology had only been made to Tweek, but then he supposed to her it would look like Tweek was the only one suffering the consequences of what had happened at Clyde's party; Craig was for some reason untouchable, yet the other boy was decidedly not. On his way to PE class, he couldn't help but wonder if Wendy wished it had been _him_ having notes thrown at him, or being held down in the school hallways whilst someone attempted to write a slur across his forehead.   
                 If she did, she needn't have worried; the other boys had locked him out of the change rooms when he arrived, and only opened the doors once they'd all gotten dressed, coming out snickering with laughter and flashing him malicious smirks.

"Don't worry Tucker, we made sure to change the decorations in there so you'd feel more at home," Bill jeered as he passed him, followed closely by Fosse.

"Make sure you stick to your designated area," the second part of the duo sniggered, gesturing towards the change rooms behind them and spitting a frothy mouthful of saliva at Craig's feet.

It landed with a wet splat by his shoe, and he looked at it blankly for a moment before lifting his gaze back up just in time to see Stan striding past with Kenny, the both of them giving him just as wide a berth as the others. Looking dishevelled but for once not drunk, Stan's head was bowed so as not to make eye-contact, whilst Kenny met Craig's gaze long enough to give him a knowing, pitying look before he too was averting his eyes.

Clyde was the last out, dragging his feet and staring at the ground with an expression of shameful misery. He wouldn't look at Craig, didn't even halt his dawdling gait for a moment, yet he murmured under his breath as he passed him.

"Don't go in there, Craig... it's best you don't see what they did."

Then he was gone, following the others as if the two of them were no more than strangers rather than lifelong best friends. Craig stood there, a swollen lump forming in his throat that he had to try and swallow past as he realised he was a stranger even to himself; a stranger in a strange land, untethered from all the things he'd thought had been true.

_Come back... don't leave me here alone with this, I swear I'm not what you think I am. I promise I'm not, I **can't** be  -- please come back Clyde... Stan... Tweek... Dad..._

When he finally entered the boys locker room, it barely seemed a shock when he saw the word fag repeatedly written out in permanent marker across his locker, along with  _"FAGS GO HERE"_ scrawled across the wall next to an arrow that pointed to the corner of the room. There they'd stuck up crude drawings of figures who he guessed where meant to be Tweek and himself in all manner of sexual positions, labelled and titled with vile phrases he soon became glad he had trouble reading.

Just like the girl's list, he tore them down one by one, crumpling and ripping them into unrecognisable fragments before shoving them all in the bin on his way out of there, not even bothering to warn Coach Turner he wouldn't be joining the class before he skipped it entirely. Retreating to the boy's bathrooms on the ground floor of the main school building, a space in which he had once helped Tweek fake a fever, he splashed his flushed face with icy water from the tap and tried not to think about it. Unbidden, the memory of them both laughing and arguing over the origin of a suspicious stain on Craig's shirt had him flinching away from his own bruised and battered reflection in the mirror, leaning back against the sink and recalling how that very same day he'd run into Kenny in the same bathroom as well, right after Bebe had first tried to kiss him.

_What was it he'd said? "You know what I reckon? That poor girl's wasting her time with you."_

Swallowing thickly against the panic constricting his throat, Craig stared down at the grazed knuckles on his right hand and watched the vision waver and blur.

_Was **this** what he meant?_

No tears fell, the image of his hand pulling back into focus as he blinked furiously, pushing off from the sink and locking himself inside one of the echoing stalls. Closing the lid of the toilet seat, he sat down and pulled his legs up to his chest, balancing his phone on the bony platform they provided. Plugging in his headphones and shoving them into each ear, he resigned himself to rewatching _Alien 3_  despite it being his least favourite of the series, skipping forward to the part in which his beloved Ellen Ripley sacrifices herself for the survival of mankind and playing it over and over as he asked himself the simple question; had he truly been attracted to her all these years, or had he just admired her?

What did it mean if he wasn't?

What did it mean if he had felt jealous of the kiss shared between Millie Larsen and Tweek, but when his chance had come to kiss her, he had left the room to follow his friend instead?

Panicked nausea flooded his mouth with the taste of bile as he rewound the scene of Ripley's death once more, thinking of the parasitic Xenomorph growing inside her and how she had chosen death rather than allowing it to live. He thought of himself, and the numb void within him that for a moment Tweek had seemed to fill.

_Is **that** the evil monster growing in me? Or is the monster me?_

_Is the monster **me?**_

When the bell went he broke from his daze, hiding in the bathroom watching the next film in the series, _Alien: Resurrection_ , instead of braving the cafeteria for lunch. It was only the knowledge that Tweek wasn't in his final class of the day that had him emerge from the stall once the break came to an end, although he then left AV class that afternoon ten minutes early regardless, sneaking past whilst Mr Meryl was busy helping one of the other students and then hurrying out of the building before the alarm could be raised.   
                  Sidling through the glass entryway that led to the yard at the front of the school, Craig inhaled the frigid fresh air as deeply as he could, closing his eyes and remembering a time when he'd done the exact same thing whilst standing there out the front of the school, although that time he had been thinking he had just made it through his last day of high school as opposed to the first torturous day back.

That had been before Tweek, before Stan, back at the beginning with no clue yet as to the mess he would drag them through. His biggest problem that day had been a fateful ultimatum handed to him by Mr Mackey, one that had led him through both hell and heaven into the purgatory he now found himself resigned to.

_I wonder how differently things could have been, if I'd just backed down from that fight._

He hadn't though. Had never backed down from anything until the night of the party. Now he didn't know how to stop.

With a sigh he set off across the lawn, kicking at the frost on the grass and trying not to remember how it'd felt to embrace Tweek on it just a week ago. Yet the persistent memory still itched at the back of his skull, warm and hazy in recollection as he reached up to press his knuckles against his eye sockets until all he could see was stars. When his eyelids lifted, his vision remained black for a split second before the light faded back in and he saw what he hadn't noticed before.

He was directly across from the school's sun-faded and well-worn US flag, the red, white and blue scrap of ragged material flapping in the breeze with the football field goalposts stark behind it. Yet it wasn't the flag that caused his heart to stutter and freeze with dread in his chest, stopping dead in his tracks and whispering a shocked and broken _"no"_ into the afternoon air.   
                  What he saw had him yelling out a name he had refused to speak for so long he had almost forgotten the taste of it on his tongue, breaking into a sprint across the distance between him and that terrible sight.

For there was something blonde and broken tied up to the flagpole, but this time it wasn't Butters Stotch.


	25. The Flag Pole

_\- in which Craig Tucker learns it is silence that allows history to repeat itself -_

He'd know him anywhere; lost in the dark, or a dream of a dream, under fluorescents at the local Safeway or facedown in the snow. Except all his features were wrong, the tufts of soft blonde hair mussed and matted, snubbed nose crusted with dried blood that was smeared in a swath of dark red across one pallid cheek. When his swollen eyes cracked open at the sound of his name being called, the amber irises were surrounded with the bloodshot red of someone who had been crying until they could no longer, the whites scratched with salt.

_What was it Cartman told me once? "I'm going to get you one of these days, Fucker, you hear me? **Everyone** cares about **something**. I'm going to find out what yours is and when I do I am going to kill it in front of you."_

And Craig had scoffed at the time, smirking at the thought that the boy could ever find a way to hurt him when it wasn't himself he should have been worried about. Guilt gnawed at his insides as he thought of every scrutinising look Cartman had focused on Tweek and him, every time they'd pushed their luck by antagonising the cruel obese boy and never once wondered what their retribution would be. 

Despite Cartman's promise, Tweek wasn't dead, but he seemed barely alive as Craig reached his side, inhalations ragged with distress. Stripped down to his underwear just as Butters had been, there were welts and bruises running down the length of his narrow torso, the skin prickling with goosebumps in the cold. _"FAGGOT SCUM"_ was written in smeared black marker across his chest, each letter sharp and angry.

"Tweek?"

"Leave me alone, Craig."

The vibrant energy of the golden boy was dulled, the spark of fire that had always flickered behind all his movements snuffed out. It hurt for Craig to look at him, and like a coward he averted his eyes to the scattered mess of the contents from Tweek's bag that had been strewn across the football field beyond them. Pages ripped from his notebooks rustled as they danced in the wind, all the meticulous notes once contained on them now too crumpled and soaked to hope to read.

"I... can't," Craig murmured, closing his eyes against the sight and swallowing hard before letting his gaze meet Tweek's once more.

The flat emptiness behind the boy's irises was like that of a dying man; every cell of his body giving in to a fight he couldn't hope to win as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Why not?"

The tired sigh of a question caught Craig by surprise, leaving him silent for a few moments as he considered his answer. Looking out to the playing field of icy grass, then the grey Spring sky, before finally allowing his gaze to settle back on the boy who had started it all, for better or worse.

_Because you helped me believe I could make something of myself. Because you showed up at my house with coffee and a plan and wouldn't take no for an answer. Because you dance all goofy-footed just to make me smile, or tease me when I'm being too serious, encourage me when I'm insecure, and you do all these things without asking for anything in return, as if caring comes free and I can have yours.  
                  Because I scarred your mouth and chipped your tooth, and stole a kiss I didn't deserve. Because you're my best friend and I should have been here to protect you._

He didn't say any of it, simply shaking his head and muttering, "I'd probably go to hell if I left you out here to freeze."

"You're probably going there anyway," Tweek scoffed bitterly, his gaze lowering to his own almost-naked body, "Haven't you heard? ' _God hates fags'_. Or so I've been told."

_I'm not I'm NOT --_

Craig's jaw clenched at the jibe, his hands flexing momentarily into fists before he shoved the anger away inside himself and focused instead on loosening the knots that had been used to restrain Tweek's wrists. They were bulbous and tangled, the nylon rope woven in and out of itself so many times it was as if the culprit had intended them to never be undone, but eventually he managed to pull it free from where it chafed against the pallid skin.

"Untie your feet, I'll get your stuff," He grunted brusquely, dropping the rope in the snow and stalking off towards where he could see Tweek's green backpack sitting like a gutted and emptied corpse in the frost-covered grass.

Snatching it up, Craig set about the football field with his face set grim and focused, slowly locating each of the other boy's notebooks, pens and pencils, his wallet and the cards that had been removed from it, each of them tossed carelessly in the snow. Placing the items carefully back inside the bag, he tried not to remember the day Tweek had briefly joined his PE class and ended up versing him in football.   
               The memory of the other boy in his arms, wriggling and laughing against his chest as he carried him over the scoreline, was too much to bear. When he looked out across the grass he could almost see the ghosts of their once happier selves, tumbling together over and over until the earth and sky seemed to wrap around them.

_You and I, forever ago. I can't tell if it meant anything._

He found Tweek's jeans near the centreline, right by the place he had once tackled Stan Marsh to the ground, and grimaced at the discovery that they were damp from the snow when he picked them up. Returning to the boy by the flagpole, Craig refused to allow his pity to show on his face when he found him trying to re-button his shirt whilst shivering violently, fingers shaking uselessly with the movement.

"Do you want help?" He asked quietly, averting his gaze from the scuff of what must have been a muddy shoe kicked hard against Tweek's thigh.

"No."

The blonde boy refused to meet his eye, glaring down at his own inefficient hands as Craig sighed irritably and dropped the jeans down at his feet, the backpack remaining hanging in his grip. No acknowledgement of his help was uttered, and he felt his temper begin to flare. 

"How did they manage to do this to you?" He demanded suddenly, hating himself for the bitter accusation rippling beneath the words, "Why didn't you fight back? Why didn't you try to stop them?"

Tweek ignored him, merely scowling harder as he focused on angrily twisting his shirt buttons through the holes, every now and then wincing as the bruised muscles over his ribs flared with pain. Craig glared, waiting for him to look up, to make a sound, to do _anything_ , and the way his throat felt thick and swollen when he didn't only served to add more heat to his growing temper.

"How are you going to convince them you're _not_ a fag if you let them do something like this to you??" He spat, blinking hard and fast to clear the stinging sensation in his eyes as his voice scraped painfully over the lump in his throat.

"I'm not trying to convince them of anything," Tweek growled under his breath, still refusing to look up as he finished haphazardly buttoning his shirt and moved on to trying to pull his damp jeans back to being outside-in.

Craig stared incredulously, heart hammering within his chest as he blurted, "Why not?? You _want_ them to think you're gay?"

"I don't care if they do!" the gold-haired boy snapped, jaw clenched and furious, "I'm not afraid of a label and I won't be made to feel ashamed of who I am."

_Of who you are...?_

"So you _are_ gay?" Craig asked quietly, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened at the idea.

"No."

The single flatly spoken word felt like a knife slid into the depth of his gut, the blade cold and biting as it tore through tissue and organs alike. Craig flinched at the sensation, surprised at the way the answer left him crestfallen, before he shook his head as if to clear it. His own reply was soft when he spoke, full of a yearning he didn't want to feel and all the misery that came along with it.

"Then why won't you even look at me?"

There was a pause wherein Tweek froze, his hands midway through the motion of lowering his pants so as to step into the leg-holes. Amber eyes met dark blue, narrowed with contempt and smouldering with a fathomless well of disappointment.

"Because this is _your fault_ , Craig, yours and every other terrified bystander here in this school," he snarled, baring his chipped teeth like a cornered animal, "You're all so damn scared you'll get called something that you'd rather stand by and watch acts of cruelty than do anything about it."

He was right; Craig knew it in the parts of him that still didn't know how to forgive Stan for what he'd done to Butters. Even worse, he knew it in the parts of him that still didn't know how to forgive _himself_ for never standing up and holding his friend accountable.

"I _am_ going to do something about it," Craig snapped, feeling his heart twisting with self loathing in his chest, "Who did this to you?"

Tweek didn't reply, pulling back on his pants with a vicious shake of his head.

"Was it Cartman?? Was it _Stan?"_

The blonde boy was silent, and Craig couldn't bear to look at him struggling to clothe himself any longer. Dropping the refilled schoolbag at Tweek's feet with a curt nod, he then began to walk away, striding over the lawn towards the school gates where he knew the people he was looking for would soon be.

"Where are you going?" Tweek called out in a bitter rasp, wincing as he accidentally brushed against the blistering rope burns on his own wrists.

When Craig replied it was over his shoulder, looking back at the boy by the flag pole with his face set grim with determination.

"To make sure this never happens again."

 


	26. For Lovers and Liars, Losers and Thieves

_\- in which a boy is all these things at once -_

Both Stan and Cartman would be by the bus stop within a few minutes, Craig reasoned, the bell for the end of school ringing out just as he reached the tall iron gates. He had no plan of attack, no agenda, yet with wrathful vengeance fuelling his every move he felt unstoppable right up until the moment that he charged out through the gates and caught sight of the group of boys collected around a car on the opposite side of the road, their conversation fading into a tense hush as every head turned in his direction.

_They're waiting for me._

The thought rose unbidden to the surface of his mind, causing his footsteps to slow and his heart-rate to speed up.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't _Fag Fucker_."

Smirking like the cat that got the cream, Cartman was at the centre of the huddle, his arms crossed over his excessively large paunch in self-satisfaction at his new and improved nickname for Craig. On either side of him were DogPoo and Butters, the latter of which seemed to own the car that they were gathered beside judging by the set of keys that flashed silver in his hands. They were glowering with pure hatred and disgust towards where Craig stood suddenly all too vulnerable and alone in front of the gates, an expression that was matched by the collection of other boys from their year that were also present; Terrence,  Fosse, Bill and Jason.

"Did you like the little gift we left out for you by the flag pole?" Cartman continued in faux-friendliness, his piggish eyes watching intently for Craig's reaction as he added, "I would have thought you'd be out there enjoying the twitchy freak while he's restrained; there's no chance he can beat you in a fight that way."

Craig's jaw clenched hard enough for his teeth to ache, the scarlet static of his anger flickering like strobe across his vision as he stepped off the kerb onto the roadside. The movement was a gauntlet thrown down, the slap of his Vans landing atop the asphalt loud in the silence.

"Shut your mouth, Cartman," He spat, continuing forward even as the group of boys fanned out in anticipation, ready to fight.

_Who cares how many there are of them; they hurt_ **_Tweek_ ** _._

"Ooo, how'd you get that _comeback_ Craig? By scraping out your boyfriend's throat?" The rotund boy sneered, then sniggered at his own joke.

It was with blind fury that Craig launched himself towards his tormentor, the world a blur of heated red and the pale curl of his fist striking out through the air. Yet the blow never landed, Cartman's sniggering turning to cruel laughter as the boy was tackled mid-motion and driven to the rough surface of the blacktop by one of the others.

His head hit first, hot stinging pain lighting up along his cheek as it was grazed violently against the road a split second before his body came crunching down alongside it. The assailant landed on top of him, revealing himself to be Fosse as he let out a colourful oath at the jarring sensation of the lanky boy's limbs prodding into him.

"Get the FUCK off me!" Craig snarled, writhing and lashing out with his fists until he felt his knuckles connect with Fosse's throat, grinning bloodied against the surface of the road as the other boy let out a choked yelp of pain.

The feeling of victory was short-lived however, as no sooner had he managed to land the blow than he felt the sickening thud of one of the other boy's boots landing hard on his ribcage. Letting out a gasp of breathless agony, Craig tried to roll away from the attacker only to feel another kick strike him in the stomach, causing him to curl in on himself from the nauseating torment of his internal organs bruising up.

"Not so tough now, are you Fucker?" Cartman sneered, to which Craig responded by glaring hatefully and attempting to stand.

He barely managed to get onto his hands and knees before DogPoo sunk a savage kick into one of his supporting arms, causing it to buckle and collapse beneath his weight. Striking the ground chin-first, the boy winced as his teeth clicked together so hard he wasn't entirely sure how they didn't break.

"What, can't you fight without your usual cheering audience?" DogPoo taunted, leaning down to grab a fistful of Craig's dark hair and use it to pull his head so they were facing each other, "Or maybe you secretly enjoy getting roughed up by other boys?"

Looking up into the contemptuous loathing written out across DogPoo's face, Craig had to blink hard to clear the dizziness of pain clouding his vision as his hands flashed up to scratch and rip at the fingers wrenching his hair from his scalp. Blunt nails scrabbled ineffectually, then stars exploded out into the suddenly blinding darkness as the other boy punched him square in the nose, sending him sprawling backwards and clutching at his face.

_I have to get up -- gotta fight back fight BACK **FIGHT BACK --**_

Yet he was given no opportunity to. The taste of bile flooded Craig's mouth as he was struck again and again, eyes closed tight and body curling in on himself until the world seemed to be formed entirely of blood and pain. Rust scented the air, hot and slick as it poured from his nostrils, dull and aching as it oozed from ruptured capillaries beneath the surface of his pale skin.

"You and your creepy little boyfriend are perverted scum," Cartman announced, the violent onslaught halting as Craig listened to the sound of slow footsteps approaching his prone form, "And without intervention, your _filthy_ desires would corrupt our entire school, maybe even our whole town."

There was a chorus of outraged agreement from the other boys, mindless in their belief in the hate-fuelled words. Craig winced to hear it, unable to keep from wondering if _he_ had sounded like that, turning his back on Tweek in the Donovan's upstairs hallway and declaring himself not to be a "fag like him".

_Did I help create this? Did I play my own part, however small, in tying an innocent boy up to a flagpole?_

A meaty hand was laid heavy against his throat, and he opened his eyes to see the silhouette of Cartman wavering over him as he leant down to murmur a message that only he was meant to hear.

"You see,  _Fucker_ , people like you shouldn't be allowed to live," the obese boy whispered, pressing hard enough to block Craig's windpipe as he added, "Which is why you'll be wishing you were dead when I'm done with you. Not just because you're a disgusting little faggot, but because you crossed me, and I don't like being crossed."

"You're a fucking psychopath," Craig choked out past the constriction of his throat, feeling the blood gushing from his nose seep into his mouth as he spoke and almost gagging on the tang of it across his tongue.

"Maybe, but at least I don't want to fuck a spastic like _Tweek Tweak_ ," Cartman replied, smirking down at his captive audience in anticipation of the surely entertaining reaction his jibe was to receive.

But Craig wasn't concerned with snarky comebacks or a war of the words; he was about action, and his next one was entirely without entertainment value for the obese boy involved. Fury coiled bitter in his bruised guts, molten and bubbling up through him as he committed the only attack left to him in his pinned-down state.

He spat.

The frothy mixture of saliva and blood jetted from between his pursed lips and splattered glistening across Cartman's rubbery jowls and mouth, sitting there just long enough for a look of complete incredulousness to pass over his soiled face. Then Craig was following through with a knee driven upwards and into the ample gut of the boy above him, his arms heaving to shove him sideways and away from the vulnerable length of his own neck.

Cartman let out a grunt of surprised pain, landing heavily beside Craig even as he launched himself to his feet, swinging a readied fist out to slam into Bill's snarling face as the other boy advanced on him. There was a crack of knuckles against nose, then Bill shrieked and crumpled, only for Fosse to step into his place.

"You're gonna wish you'd never been — agh!" He cut off in a yelp of agony as Craig kicked his legs out from beneath him, following through by then slamming the boy bodily into Terrence, Dogpoo and Jason crowding behind, turning their readied support into their collective downfall.

Only the petite and elfin blonde boy of the mob remained upright, blue eyes blown wide with childlike fright.

"H-hey now, Craig," Butters stuttered, stepping back with his keys wringing in his hands, "You don't gotta go hittin' _me_ like that, I haven't done n-nothing."

There was something so terribly pathetic about the other boy that Craig paused in his violent rampage, shaking his head with an exhausted sigh as he realised he felt no true desire to harm him. Butters himself had been the victim of Cartman's cruelty just as Tweek had; the idea of attacking him didn't feel justified.

"In fact I'm just gonna — er — I'm just gonna get in my car and drive away now, ya hear?" The meek boy continued, turning and pulling open the handle to the driver's side door.

_Well, I always knew Butters was a coward, but this really takes the cake._

With a disdainful sneer Craig rolled his eyes and returned his attention to where Cartman was laboriously attempting to get to his feet behind him, the sound of his wheezing filling the air. Vaguely aware of the soft thud as the car door was closed, Craig was too busy stepping forward to grab a wrathful hold of the obese boy to think it odd when there was no sound of the engine starting.

Yet he should have. He should have.

"Get ready Cartman, because I'm going to break a bone in your body for each and every bruise you put on Tweek," He announced in a voice flat with mercilessness, "And if you _ever_ touch him again I'll —"

Metallic pain blooming across the back of his skull. Black static and white noise. The sensation of his body crumpling helpless to the asphalt and the collision of the two ringing out along nerve endings already screaming with agony.

"Oh jeez oh jeez I think I've killed him!" He distantly heard Butters shriek, punctuated by the echoing thud of the weapon he'd been bludgeoned with being dropped to the ground, but it was as if he were trying to listen from underwater.

"Shut up with the fag-a-tronics Butters, just start the car while we tie him up."

_No... no..._

Blearily trying to open his eyes, Craig fumbled to retain his grip on consciousness, drifting in and out of awareness as he was manhandled and restrained.

"The kids that catch the bus will be here any second, hurry the fuck up."

"Shove him in the trunk."

He was lifted, the ground sinking away from his aching form and his head lolling back so that the world was upside-down when he finally managed to lift one leaden eyelid and peer out into the blur. The gates to the school were rows of black arrows piercing the white of the overcast sky, everything dressed in shades of grey until a single colour emerged from between them.

Gold.

_Tweek?_

He tried to call out the name but only managed to whimper, the sound wavering from between his grazed lips like the high-pitched keening of a dog. Eyes falling heavily closed once more, then lifting as he was dropped careless into the trunk of the car, his body landing amongst the other discarded detritus that was stored there.

"He's waking up... should I hit him with my bat again, Eric?" Butters was asking tentatively, whispering over the lid of the trunk to Cartman, whilst DogPoo and Bill glowered menacingly down at where Craig lay bruised and battered.

Yet the boy wasn't looking at them, his wavering gaze attempting to focus on the small gap between their bodies, where he could see that flash of gold had now been joined by a deep royal purple. Frowning, he tried to get his eyes to focus on the small patch of colour settled into the black and white of the world around him, but the darkness stretched its fingers up and over his vision with a cruel laugh.

"Excuse me, what are you boys doing??" A haughty female voice called out in the approaching unconscious, then the car trunk slammed shut and Craig could hear nothing more.

_Wendy?_

The engine started, thrumming loud and throaty through the aluminium skeleton he'd been trapped in, then the vehicle began to move and he sunk beneath the haze as unconsciousness finally took him.

 

He awoke to the rattle of pebbles spraying loose beneath him as his body tumbled down an embankment, his eyes flying wide open to see the earth and sky being blent into one swirl of dizzying light. Hands bound behind his back and legs secured at the ankles, he was helpless as he rolled to a final stop by an all-too familiar water's edge, his aching profile crushed into the icy stones.

Looking out across the dark water, he felt his mouth go dry with terror.

_Stark's Pond... no, not here... anywhere but here._

It was a place for dying in; one could hear it in the whisper of the sharp-tongued breeze that rustled the branches of the fir trees, could feel it in the heated throb of his wounded flesh.

"Get him up onto the wharf," Cartman commanded from afar, and Craig thrashed uselessly among the pebbles in an effort to break free as he heard two sets of footsteps approaching.

His bonds remained painfully tight despite his efforts, and Bill and Jason had no trouble grabbing him by the legs and dragging him along the shore to the steps of the wooden jetty he and Stan had almost jumped off once, his body falling hard against every well-worn step. The two boys hauled him wriggling and panicking right to the end of platform, then unceremoniously dropped his already bruised legs with a painful thud.

"Are you ready for a swim, Craig?" Cartman asked, coming to stand over where Craig lay bound and helpless on the jetty.

_No... NO --_

"I hear the water is refreshing this time of year," DogPoo added with a smirk, sniggering as the boy they sneered down at strained desperately against his bonds.

_NO NO NO NO NO NO --_

"You can't -- you can't throw me in there; I'll drown," Craig reasoned, having to swallow back his rising hysteria so as not to let the words come out strangled with fear.

Looking up towards the seven boys crowded around him, he saw flickers of doubt briefly light up within their cruel gazes. It sparked up a candlelit flame of hope inside the cavern of his chest, before being quickly snuffed out the second he caught sight of Cartman's face.  
              The obese boy's expression was dripping with malice, a manic glee glinting in his beady eyes as he leant down to press his fingertips into the grazed and bloodied flesh on either side of Craig's cheeks. The immediate pain was sharp and biting, causing an involuntary gasp to tear past Craig's lips as he tried to jerk away from the touch.

Cartman grinned.

"I sure hope you do, Fucker. I sure hope you do."

Then he was releasing him from his grip and stepping back with a wave of his hand, the other boys moving obediently forwards to grab a hold of his lanky limbs.

_No no no NO NO NO **NO NO --**_

"No! NO! NO!" Someone was yelling, the sound so terrified and ragged that for a moment Craig didn't recognise it as his own voice.

"Eric, isn't this -- isn't this a bit far?" Butters was asking in a small murmur, but Cartman was quick to cut him down.

"Are you a little faggot too, Butters?? Do you want to be next?"

"N-no..."

"Then shut the fuck up and help lift him."

Craig thrashed and twisted in their hands, feeling his clothing tearing and his skin perforating beneath nails hooked into the flesh, yet nothing could save him as he was picked up, dangling like a helpless newborn in a hunter's jaws for a single moment before he was swung out and over the edge of the wharf. Their touch left him, and he writhed weightless in the air for the split second it took for his body to arc through the space between life and death.

Then it was into the water, with no chance of ever making it back out alive.

All he knew was frigid cold, biting against the raw flesh of his cheeks with needle-sharp teeth. Eyes flying open, lips spreading wide to choke for air which did not exist and water dragging into his lungs instead as he looked out into the bubbling murk. Sinking down into the black with no prayers left to say and only the sound of his terrified heartbeat for company, scorched to ashes in the blistering pain of all his regrets.

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die and I don't get to say I'm sorry or ever call my dad back for my birthday or tell my mom I love her and there's never going to be another chance for me to sit around a Spin the Bottle circle but maybe I'm okay with that because I know I'd still pick Tweek I'd still pick Tweek and I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry --_

Then the light; bright white and dazzling to the point of leaving him flinching in its fiery grace as he was rendered blind. Face dripping with tears and lake-water, snot and spittle, he stared without seeing up and into the pale of it all, breathing so hard his lungs felt aflame.

Ears ringing, he was dimly aware that people were yelling all around him, the sounds too muted to understand past the blockade of water within the canals. He strained to listen, struggling against the warmth that was wrapped around him and crying out in fear as he momentarily dipped beneath the surface of the water once more.

Then a voice, low and close enough to feel the brush of their lips moving against his ear.

"I've got you, it's okay Craig. I've got you."

Stan's voice, breaking through the fire and the flood of panic to soothe the staccato beat of his heart. It seemed impossible even as Craig heard it, wishing to reach out and grab a hold of his saviour with the useless ache of his bound hands.

"Is he breathing?? Is he okay?" Someone cried out from a distance, the words raw with distraught concern.

_Clyde...?_

"Shut up you whiny asshole," Cartman snapped, "If I wanted the Fag Brigade here I would have invited you."

"T-too bad n-no one cares what you want."

_Jimmy?_

"You've crossed the line Cartman! You just tried to drown our best friend, and we're not letting you get away with it."

_Token?_

Details began to filter back in to Craig's vision, the light reducing in glare until he realised he had been staring blindly at the overcast sky. Turning his head dazedly, he looked up into Stan's grim face as the other boy dragged him up onto the shore with him, cheeks flushed from the effort of swimming with their combined weights.   
                The pebbles beneath his body crunched and skittered as he was laid gently down on his stomach, the feeling of them pressing to him like Heaven itself after the icy plunge into the lake. Ropes around his wrists loosening, he found himself shaking as he pushed himself upright, sitting facing Stan as the boy worked on untying the multiple knots securing Craig's ankles.

They were on the shoreline a few meters from the stairs to the wooden pier, sitting safely behind a mismatched line of individuals who all seemed to have come together to save him. Clyde, with his attention switching constantly between the mob of boys up on the wharf and where Craig shivered on the shore, brows knitted together in worry; Token with his arms crossed defiantly, chin jutting out towards his friend's attackers with loathful disdain; Jimmy standing rigid and ready, grip white-knuckled on his crutches as he readied himself for a fight. Surprisingly, both Kyle and Kenny were there too, fists clenched and glares fixed upon the obese boy they seemed no longer prepared to call a friend.

"I was doing you all a favour! C'mon, Kenny, Kyle, Stan... you guys get where I'm coming from right?" Cartman snarled vehemently, his efforts to garner support from his closest friends met with only silent anger.

"W-we have to put an end to this, uh, _sickness_ before it spreads, fellas," Butters attempted to explain, stepping forward in support of their actions despite the ripple of uncertainty that coloured his voice.

"It's fucking gross. Guys shouldn't want to fuck other guys," Jason agreed with a shake of his head, more confident now that other members of their violent group had spoken up.

"It's gay," sniggered Bill.

"Yeah, it's so fucking gay," Fosse added.

"All of you are just hating what you don't understand because Cartman told you to," Stan growled, standing up with the untied rope dangling in his hands as he pointed accusingly towards their ringleader, "And Cartman is only hating what he doesn't understand because his redneck of a mom told him to."

"Ey! Don't bring my mom into this!" Cartman seethed, his piggish eyes narrowed to angry slits, "I told them nothing! They all just know what _normal_ guys like you and me know, Stan; that this fucking _perversion_ doesn't deserve to live."

The proclamation landed heavy in the air, all eyes turning to focus on their star quarterback as the boy flung the rope angrily away, then reached down to offer Craig his hand. It didn't shake as he held it out, palm up and warm against Craig's skin when he accepted the help, the two of them working together to pull him to his feet.

It was a gesture of forgiveness, of friendship, but more than that, it was the choosing of a teammate, with whom he was about to walk through hell.

"Then make sure you kill me as well," Stan said, holding his head high and sober for the first time in years as he told them all, "Because I'm gay too, Cartman, you _fat piece of shit._ "

The insult had been spoken before by Stan Marsh in the defence of Craig Tucker, outside of Mr Mackey's office in a moment that seemed now too removed to mention, yet it seemed this time that the obese boy barely registered the comment on his weight. He stared in blatant shock, mouth gaping open in silence as Stan slipped his shoulders beneath Craig's arm and helped him up the embankment, dismissively turning his back on the crowd of their astonished peers.

_He did that... for me. To make them change their minds about me._

Looking back over his shoulder, a bitter pang of guilt washed over Craig as he saw the shocked pale of Kyle's face, the redhead's wide gaze fixated on his best friend's retreating back.

_I don't think anything will be the same again._

Trying not to stumble as he was led up to the familiar blue pickup truck that had been parked haphazardly on the top of the ridge, he leaned against his unlikely saviour and attempted to swallow the lump that had begun to swell in his throat.

"How did you know to come find me?" He murmured, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Wendy. She said she got out early to the bus stop and found Tweek there about to dive in to save you from your one-on-seven brawl with Cartman and those other idiots," Stan replied quietly, reaching out to open the passenger side door for Craig to clamber in, "But then they saw you get hit with a baseball bat and put in the trunk, and knew it was something that needed a bit more manpower to be able to resolve. So she called me, and I called everyone else."

Craig frowned, "Wendy? Why would _she_ of all people want to save _me_?"

It was question that within it held another more important one, about an act of selfless sacrifice committed mere moments ago, and the other boy's answer came out with a small smile, all crooked and anguished in the dying sun.

"Because you're worth saving."

Settling down onto the grubby upholstery, the boy bit back a dry-eyed sob and hugged his knees to his chest, shivering as Stan got into the driver's seat beside him to wait for the others to catch up. The sound of the ignition catching and spluttering to life seemed incredibly loud in their silence, before the space was filled by the thrum of the idling engine and the heated air whooshing from the vents as Stan turned each and every one to face Craig.

A role reversal; a repayment of a favour neither of them wished to remember.

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're the bravest person I know."

The boy's laugh was tired and sad, sighing from between his lips as his eyes stayed focused upon the redheaded boy that was dazedly making his way to the pickup, trailing just a little behind the others.

"Come on Tucker, let's just get you home."


	27. Coming Home

_\- in which Craig Tucker is brave -_

Clyde was sobbing as he hugged him on the doorstep, arms crushed breathlessly around Craig's ribs and face buried wet and howling into his sodden shirt. Behind him Jimmy was teary-eyed too, his brow furrowed and sense of humour absent, for what joke could fix the terrible events of that afternoon?

"You have to press charges," Token was saying, over and over as if too shocked to fully comprehend what had happened, his hand clutching at Craig's shoulder with all the protective fury of a worried mother, "You can't let them get away with this."

Craig only shook his head, silent and dry-eyed as he stared out past them to the front yard next to his, watching the ghosts of him and Tweek beat themselves bloody in the snow. On the doormat beside him there was a box that had already been sitting waiting when Stan had dropped them all off, his name written on one of the battered flaps in familiar, shaky hand.

The mystery of what lay inside seemed to pulse from it, ever insistent in the background of the boy's agitated thoughts.

"It's a h-h-hate crime," Jimmy was adding on to Token's advice, voice raw and angry, "They c-c-can't try to m-murder you just f-for being gay."

"I'm..." Craig reflexively began to say, then trailed off, the denial dying into silence on the edge of his tongue.

_... not? I'm not? Right?_

He didn't know anymore, and the not knowing left him paralysed with fear as he gently detached Clyde from himself, looking down into his best friend's weeping face and finding he was unable to reassure him, to reassure any of them; there were no words that could convey a lie so great as to say he was fine.

"Thanks for saving me, guys," was all he said instead, hearing his voice crack as if he were about to cry yet feeling no tears fall.

The three of them gathered in closer, embracing him hard enough to make his bruises ache before stepping back and watching him as he picked up the box and withdrew into himself, withdrew into his house, pale face disappearing behind the closing door like the flash of a surrender flag.

Craig expected to cry once he was in the safety of his home, leaning his back against the door and waiting with closed eyes for the icy depths of the lake water to reclaim him. He expected to sink to his knees as the shock wore off and to dissolve into panic, to gasp for air as if he were drowning once more and to sob with relief that he had been saved.

Yet there was no violent collapse into grief to be had, no consolation to be found in the knowledge that his fickle heart kept beating. Body beginning to tremble from more than just the cold of his wet clothes clinging to his body, all he could see in his mind's eye was the silhouette of his father standing before him, with hands in fists and shoulders set rigid.

There was no love in the pose, no yield in the hard set of his form; Craig was less his son than a living disappointment, one which clearly should have died by the lakeside.

_That's what he'll think if he finds out about all this. If I go to the police about what Cartman and the others did, the whole town will end up hearing about it and then the whole town is going to talk until he ends up hearing about it too and then he'll think I'm --_

"Craig?"

He opened his eyes, flinching back from the tentative voice before realising it was only Tricia, standing a few steps away with her afternoon bowl of cereal clutched in her hands.

"Craig, why are you all wet?" She asked quietly, looking at his sodden shoes before daring to glance at the grazed mess of his face, "There's blood all down your cheek..."

"I..." He began, but the words stuck in his throat.

Coughing slightly to try and clear the lump beginning to constrict his vocal chords, he was taken by surprise when his sister stepped forward, crossing the space between them in a split second and holding her bowl out to the side as she threw her other arm around him. Leaning with her face against his diaphragm, right next to the box he held dazedly in his loose grip, she embraced him fiercely tight.

"It's okay, I know," she whispered, and when Craig tensed up in terror she hugged him harder, "They were all talking about it at school today, but I think I knew even before then."

He was breathing fast and shallow, his eyes stinging as he looked down at the strawberry blonde crown of her head and asked raggedly into the hush, " _How?_ "

_How did you see it when I couldn't? When I_ **_can't_ ** _\--_

"Craig, the only girl you've ever taken an interest in is Ripley from the _Alien_ movies," Tricia scoffed, her usual acerbic manner of speaking returning as she released him from the hug and looked impishly up into his stricken face, "... and I'm pretty sure you want to _be_ her, not kiss her."

_No. You're wrong. You're **wrong**._

At her gentle teasing the boy scowled, narrowing his eyes to slits and stalking past his sister towards the stairs. Behind him she sighed ruefully, then called out as he began to trudge up the steps, his legs aching with each movement.

"What did they do to you? Why are you wet, Craig?"

His reply was swift and cutting, his fingers clenched against the sides of the box and shoulders set in a hard, unyielding line.

"No one did anything. I'm fine."

Tricia growled under her breath with frustration, losing her temper as she snapped back, "I warned you about this! I told you last week at the bus stop that people would see what you feel for Tweek differently to how it is! I told you they'd think the worst of it!"

_Tweek._

The name was a bolt of lightning through the centre of his chest, sending out white hot lines of fire racing hard and fast down the avenues of his veins. He paused on the top step, still clutching the cardboard box in a white knuckled grip, before shaking his head angrily.

"I don't feel anything for Tweek."

_I never did. I kissed him at the party because I was drunk and confused and I didn't want to kiss Bebe; there's nothing else to it._

Whatever his sister's reply was he made sure not to hear, slamming the door of his bedroom and carelessly dropping the box onto his bed. Standing over it, he glared down at its scuffed and crumpled appearance, tracing his gaze over his own name written out in biro across the top and convincing himself he had no desire to see what was inside.  
               He needed a shower and dry clothes, not to take part in the strange mind-games of the boy who'd almost gotten him killed that afternoon. With an apathetic shrug that felt more performative than genuine even to Craig himself, he dismissed the box and did exactly that; scrubbing himself red raw in the scalding water and trying to persuade himself the sensation of the liquid against his skin didn't make him feel sick.

Once dried and dressed in his comfiest of clothes, he closed himself back up in his bedroom, looking around for something to do while keeping his eyes off the mysterious package sitting at the end of his bed. Gaze alighting on the stack of full camcorder tapes both old and new sitting on his desk, he sighed as he remembered the AV project he was meant to have almost completed by now.

_At least it'll be a distraction._

Picking up the box of tapes and the VCR converter he'd been using to make the analogue recordings into digital copies that he could edit on the computer, he slunk out from his bedroom and down the hall to the study. The room was dark and quiet, still looking just as he and Tweek had last left it, with _The Smiths_ debut album left frozen mid-song on the turntable and Craig's english essay notes scattered across the desk.

With an echoing numbness the boy turned on the record player, sending the vinyl disc back spinning without resetting the needle. The audio warped briefly as it moved from slow to regular speed, then the maudlin vocals of Morrissey filled the space.

_"Under the iron bridge we kissed_   
_And although I ended up with sore lips_   
_It just wasn't like the old days anymore_   
_No, it wasn't like those days,_   
_am I still ill?"_

Craig angrily shoved the tip of his finger against the power button, watching the record stop dead in its tracks and returning the room to hushed silence.

_The Smiths suck. Tweek's taste in music sucks. Fucking whiny bullshit._

Returning his attention to the task at hand, he dumped his cargo on the desk and booted up the clunky old PC. The screen flickered to life, static prickling across it's surface alongside the white noise reverberating within Craig's lanky form as he settled down into the battered deskchair his father had so often sat at, angrily tapping away at the keyboard the same way he did now.

Uploading the footage from the camcorder was going to take several minutes, the loading bar ticking along at a snail's pace whilst the boy opened up the editing software and swallowed back rising hysteria as he stared at the half-completed project.

_I have no idea how to finish it._

Checking back on the amount of the tape that had converted to digital so far, he loaded it into the viewer window and pressed play. The grainy footage seemed to vibrate with energy as it presented him with a view of Tricia stretched out catlike across the couch in the living room, pointing her cereal spoon towards the camera with a deadpan expression. It was instantly recognisable as the beginning of a video skit his sister had come up with while they'd been watching through an ad-break on television one afternoon, and Craig couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Hello and welcome to my show, _Cereal Business_. This is my official review of _Mr Crunchy's Mintberry Crunch_ breakfast cereal," she intoned flatly, before gesturing off-camera, "Do it Tweek."

Panning to the left, the shot moved to contain the fidgety boy who she had spoken to, standing holding the _Mintberry Crunch_ cereal box over the kitchen trash can that had been moved into the living room for the video. At the sight of his former friend, Craig felt his heart lurch.

"This — this seems like a waste of food?" Tweek queried nervously, his gaze flicking between Craig behind the camera and off to the side where Tricia lay on the sofa.

"Bin it!!"

At the girl's vehemence, Tweek yelped and hurled the cereal box into the trashcan, slamming the lid on for good measure. Craig winced as he heard his own muffled laugh on the tape, the sound causing Tweek to look up and smile shyly. The shot lingered on his face just a little too long, and Craig clenched his jaw as he recalled how they'd been looking at each other all warm and beginning to blush, the camera in his grip drifting slowly to the side so that it no longer covered his face.

_Ugh, what a waste of film._

The scene cut to another recording, of Laura Tucker serving a mountain of green peas onto Tweek's plate at the dinner table as the boy sat watching in awe, his knife and fork trembling in his hands. When she finished, he jittered nervously for a moment before thanking her in a voice so raspy with choked-up gratitude that it set the cavern of Craig's chest aching.

Frowning, he fast-forwarded to the next piece of footage, finding himself again greeted with the golden boy's toothy grin, whole and perfect as it never would be again. The next piece of tape was of him as well, and the one after that, and then more after that. Tweek with his feet up on the sofa and Tweek whining about a coffee burn on his tongue and then him goofily trying to catch snowflakes on it not too long after, the white flakes dissolving onto the pink. Tweek laughing, Tweek scowling, his hands scooping up snow and his amber eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed his wheezing laugh, captured forever bright and smiling towards Craig behind the lens of the camera.

Surely he must have wanted something else from him; people didn't smile at each other like that unless they felt _something_.

Craig was acutely aware of a painful squeezing sensation down the length of his throat to his heart, sitting back in the chair and staring at the paused still-frame of the other boy with his hands clutching in the tufts of hair that stuck up like a bright blonde crown from his skull. Pulling at his shirt collar to check it wasn't too tight, he shifted to sit up straighter then slumped down again when it made no difference; the ache only got more and more intense until he realised the image of Tweek was blurring with tears that were welling up hot and stinging across his vision.

Somehow all his desires had crept up on him, moving as shadows down the back alleys of his mind and creeping over the garden walls he'd constructed to keep everything out. He couldn't understand it, yet there the golden boy was, breathed in through lungs and slipped into the bloodstream, pulsing through him all the way up to his starving heart. He wanted him laid out across his sofa with his feet resting on Craig's lap, wanted him being forced second helpings at the family dinner table and the clink of the plate being tapped by the cutlery in his jittery hands. He wanted their bodies rolling together over and over across the grass of the football field or perhaps even the snow of Clyde's front lawn, with shared breath and heat and pulsing hearts. He wanted his wheezing laugh, his chapped lips, his grumbling and his glaring, wanted his fingers on piano keys or catching through his hair and if he could have neither then he wanted to hold them threaded between his own, just one last time.

He wanted Tweek in every way there was to want a person; he wanted his friend back.

The room felt suddenly too small, too full of things that didn't belong to Craig and all the echoes of every second he'd spent in there with Tweek wanting to reach out and touch him and convincing himself that he didn't. Ditching his efforts with the AV project, the boy stumbled from the space like a newborn deer on shaky legs, fingers clutched in the front of his shirt as if to tear through the material, through the flesh beneath; all the way down to the very bottom of his deceitful heart so that he might ask when exactly it had decided to hand itself over so entirely to the last person in the world Craig had expected.

_Why_ **_him?_ ** _Why the boy I beat up in Fourth Grade? Of all the people on goddamn planet Earth, why did it have to be the twitchy nervous wreck with the obnoxiously wheezy laugh, the shaking hands and the quick temper, and why are all those things on the long list of reasons why I love him?_

Craig pushed open the door to his bedroom and slammed it, leaning back against the scratched wooden surface. Breathing hard, it took him a few moments to realise what he'd just admitted to himself, and his lips began to curve with the warmth of the feeling.

Falling in love with Tweek hadn't been like falling at all; it had been like searching for something fruitlessly only to find it as you turned that last corner to come home. To see that what you'd wanted had been sitting there waiting all along, and feel your lips part in surprise that you could have missed it all this time.

The small smile stayed while crossing over to his bed, then dissolved when he finally picked up the cardboard box that he'd found on the doorstep and opened it, swallowing thickly against the noise of choking surprise that crawled up his throat as he saw what lay inside. It was his birthday sweater, crumpled up as if tossed carelessly in, and beneath it, his Michelin Man t-shirt, soft from wear and smelling faintly of coffee.

_So it's a box of things of mine he's no longer interested in keeping..._

Craig pulled out each in turn, burying his face in them with closed eyes and breathing in the scent of Tweek that had seeped into the garments; a rich bitter smell he'd once thought he hated, alongside the faint aroma of his sweet sweat and the lavender soap he washed with. He inhaled until he felt dizzy, then placed them down on the bedspread, taking a last cursory look into the box and feeling his pulse quicken as he saw there were two more items; a page from a notebook with a torn edge and an envelope.

Taking out the notebook page, the boy sighed when he saw it was none other than the list of rules he and Tweek had written up in that very room back in January. Feeling miles away from the version of himself that had sat on the bed and argued with his newly assigned tutor, Craig bit his lip as he squinted to read Tweek's cramped handwriting.

_"1. No one except Clyde Donovan gets to be told about the tutoring._

_2\. Craig Tucker has to actually start TRYING in his classes._

_3\. Once Craig Tucker's grades improve enough for him to pass, then the partnership will dissolve and neither party will speak to each other again."_

The words on the page started to blur, the boy's eyes stinging as he blinked quickly to clear his vision before screwing up the list into a crumpled ball and throwing it across the room. It bounced off the wall and landed somewhere behind his dresser, where it would most likely stay until he eventually rearranged his room or moved out of home.

_Good Riddance._

Still frowning, he snatched the envelope out from the bottom of the box and turned it over to see Tweek's misspelt name scrawled across the front in sloppy childish handwriting.

It was his.

Pulse filling his throat, Craig lifted the aged paper lip of the envelope's flap, feeling a memory stir in the brackish waters of his mind. It bubbled and lifted to the surface, faded with the haze of time yet growing more vivid with each passing moment until the boy could clearly recall how small his hands had been when he first placed the single sparse page of writing inside the envelope all those years ago, licking the seal and pressing it down crooked to hide the words away inside.

_The letter Mom made me write to tell him I was sorry... he kept it all this time._

His childhood felt very far away as he slid his fingers inside and caressed the folded slip, only to find there was a second, smaller piece of paper in the envelope, the jagged edge crisp and fresh compared to the softness of the apology letter. Craig's brow furrowed as he pulled it out and discovered it to be a scrap torn from one of a notebook page, with two words scrawled across it in familiar cramped handwriting.

_"I lied."_

Craig blinked, turning it over to see the other side was entirely blank.

_... lied about what?_

No further clues were contained within the cryptic note, leaving him uncertain and confused as he removed the original letter from the envelope, unfolding it with a sense of dread.

_"Daer Tweek,_

_I hate you. I hate yuo so so much._   
_I am not so rry for being tuffer than yuo_   
_(BUT if it maks you feel better, you are mor prettyer than me.)_   
_if you eva speek too me agian, I will kill you._

_Frm Craig"_

The copious amounts of spelling mistakes made it slightly difficult to read, but the boy still managed to feel his cheeks heat up as he read over his younger self's lack of subtlety despite this initial hurdle. From the opening statement of the letter, to the thinly veiled compliment and then blatant threat, Craig found the entire thing to be a collection of lies wrapping around a single truth that still echoed out within him like the toll of a bell; that Tweek made him feel things he had always been too much of a coward to face.

Yet he could face them now, if he could find the strength.

_I love you, I love you I love you --_

It was so cold yet so sweet across his tongue as he mouthed the words, flinging the letter back into the box and burying his face into the sweater he'd been given back until he knew no scent save for the boy he adored. It ached like nothing he had known before, and as he lay back against the bedspread he felt a choking sob rattle through his body.

_I love you Tweek, I love you I love you and I want to say it out loud but I don't know how and I know you don't feel the same and I'm sorry oh my god I'm so sorry --_

"Craig? Munchkin are you alright?"

His mother's sudden voice jerked him guiltily from his thoughts, and he sat up with his heart slamming hard against his sternum, gazing wide-eyed over at where she lingered at the entrance to his room. As she caught sight of his battered face, her tentative demeanour immediately shifted into one of shocked concern.

"What's happened?? Who did this to you?"

There was an answer, yet the words didn't come, his throat constricting until all he could do was stare at her in nameless terror. In his mind's eye all he could see was an imagined projection of her disappointed, disgusted face as he told her the truth of himself, laying it ugly and bare at her feet. He could almost hear her having to admit the news to his father on the phone later that night, in sickened whispers and mutters of malcontent, and how the both of them would agree together that he couldn't possibly be their son. That they didn't want him to be their son.

_No... Mom isn't like that... Mom isn't like_ **_him_ ** _._

"I -- I got into a fight," Craig choked out, wringing his hands in his birthday sweater and then smoothing it out in repeated cycles until he found he could speak more normally, "I'm okay, Mom, don't worry."

The agitated woman fixed him with a stern look, her worry fuelling her temper as she watched her son try and brush her off.

"Craig, you've got a black eye and a graze down the entire length of your face. That doesn't look 'okay' to me."

"I'm fine!" The boy snapped, a spike of fear slicing through him at her continued probing for answers, "Just leave me alone, please."

His mom looked hurt for a moment, blinking in alarm at his raised voice before her expression softened once more.

"I'm worried about you, sweetheart," she murmured, clinging onto the doorframe as if to hold herself back from crossing the threshold, knowing all too well that her son wouldn't respond well to the hug she so badly wanted to give him, "You've been so upset since Friday, and now this... I know you don't to tell me what's happening, but can I help you? Is there anything I can do?"

Craig looked up from the sweater in his hands, settling his gaze on her face and wishing he weren't so afraid.

"I don't want you to have to do anything, Mom."

The words fell from his lips like stones, rolling heavy and dull to rest in the space between them.

"Well, if you'd like to talk about it, I'll just be downstairs, alright?" She offered finally, her light blue eyes tracing the bloodied features of his face as if she could somehow heal them with unwavering will alone.

"Alright."

Then she was gone, the space in the doorway empty and Craig sitting alone on his bed with a box of things Tweek had once held in trembling hands. It hurt like an ache he hadn't ever been taught to swallow, sitting swollen within the confines of his throat as he waited for an answer to appear.

He knew what he wanted; for his dad to be the one standing in the doorway all tentative and waiting, for him to cross the room and sit on the edge of his bed and tell him he didn't leave because Craig liked boys instead of girls. That he still loved him even if he was gay.  
               Yet it was Laura Tucker who had waited by the door, exactly as she always had. Through birthdays and bad times and fake sick days and real ones; ready to love him no matter what.

_It doesn't matter what he thinks of me because he's never coming back, and even if he did, it wouldn't be to say those things. That's just something I have to learn to accept._

Decisively pulling on the birthday sweater over his head, he hugged his own arms to himself as he slowly rose from the bed, padding in bare feet out into the hallway and down the stairs to where he knew someone who loved him would be waiting for him. Someone who had never left, and never would; someone who had made him a spaceman helmet and told him he could touch the stars.

His mom was rinsing vegetables in the sink for that night's dinner when he crept into the kitchen, standing watching her for a silent moment before sinking into one of the seats at the breakfast table in the corner. The scrape of the chair legs on the linoleum floor made her turn to look over her shoulder, giving him a worry-laced smile before continuing the task at hand.

"Me and Tweek had a fight on Friday night," Craig blurted out into the silence, his voice flat and defeated even to his own ears, "That's why... that's why I was upset."

His mom shot him a look of utter shock, before her brow creased ever so slightly.

"Was this a verbal fight? Or a physical one?"

"Both," He admitted sheepishly, then hastily explained, "It wasn't Tweek's fault though. It was mine."

_All of this has been my fault._

The boy tried to speak further but his voice cracked on the first syllable and let the words die silent on his tongue, leaving him sitting hunched and vulnerable in his seat as Laura Tucker looked back over her shoulder towards him, waiting patiently for a clarification that would never come.

"Munchkin, what's going on?" She finally asked, sitting across from him at the kitchen table and reaching out to take his hand.

He let her, feeling her gentle fingers curl warm around his own as the sadness swelled, suffocating him within the inky black. It whispered of all the things he didn't understand, of all the things he wanted without knowing why, and it grew to such a crescendo that he couldn't see or hear the world around him. He felt as if nothing were keeping him tethered to the earth save for that single point of connection; his mother's hand warm on his own.

Tears stung his eyes when he finally met her gaze, the words he needed to speak lodged painfully in his throat as she waited patiently for him to respond. It was too big, too scary, his heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it might break, and all the while Laura Tucker held tightly onto him, squeezing his hand between both of hers as if meaning to never let him go.

He finally managed a weak smile; he knew the words, the only words she'd need to understand.

"You know how Captain Kirk and Spock are secretly gay for one another?" He asked, watching her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiled and nodded.

A breath, a tension he'd been living with for longer than he could guess leaving his body as he grinned wide and told her.

"Yeah, well... me too."

His mom was motionless for a moment, then the smile broadened, her laugh ringing out bright and wonderful when she opened her mouth to speak.

"Oh, so you finally agree with me that your young Star Trek men are in love then?" She teased, still holding his hand as she stood up and pulled him with her, sidling around the wooden tabletop until she could wrap him up in her arms, "You should tell Tweek too, he always agreed."

Craig shook his head, hugging his mom back as the tears of relief rolled down his cheeks, "I don't know if he'll want to be hearing from me at all, Mom."

"Of course he will," Laura scoffed, stroking his hair as she chided, "That boy adores you, don't try and fool yourself otherwise."

A vision of Tweek's furious face as he'd denied the possibility of being gay flashed through Craig's mind, followed by the memory of how the box of his things had looked on his doorstep, of all those things jumbled up inside.

Of a scrap of paper that conveyed only two words written in cramped hand: _"I lied"_.

_I'm not sure he does._

"I love you, sweetheart," His mom was murmuring to him as she rocked the two of them slowly side to side, her embrace fierce around him despite her much smaller stature, "I love you, always and no matter what. Remember that."

"I will," he promised, feeling his heartbeat slowing down to a calm he hadn't felt since forever ago, before the party at Clyde's house and all those wonderful, terrible things that had happened there.

"Now help me scrub the potatoes for dinner," His mom instructed, laughing as she released him and beckoned towards the sink as casually as if she had just been informed Craig was tall rather than gay.

With an eye-roll of secret relief disguised as annoyance the boy held out his hands to receive the dirt-covered vegetables, moving to take her place at the sink whilst she busied herself with retrieving other ingredients from the fridge. The kitchen radio was turned on, the crackling speaker blaring out Van Morrison's _Brown Eyed Girl_ whilst Laura Tucker sang along, laughing with delight when Tricia emerged from the lounge room to add in the harmonies.

Wrist-deep in dirtied water and slowly scrubbing at a particularly filthy potato with the scourer, Craig looked around the cramped kitchen with the smallest of smiles on his face as he watched the two people he loved most in the world trying to outperform the radio, just as they always did. His mom and sister, fruitlessly commanding him to sing with them as he scoffed and smirked until finally conceding that he'd hum along.

And as _Brown Eyed Girl_ finished and the next song began, Craig realised how normal everything felt; as if an aching thorn that had been forever buried in his flesh had finally been removed.

It didn't feel like coming out, it felt like coming home.


	28. The Perpetual Agony of Stan Marsh

_\- in which Craig Tucker learns that some happy endings simply cannot be gifted to us -_

_"I lied."_

_When? And how much?_

The questions plagued Craig as he sat in the Sheriff's office the next morning with his mom, Sergeant Yates grumbling at the desk in front of them as he reread over his notes. He'd taken barely any during Craig's testimony, mostly openly glaring in distrust towards both the boy and his mother until Laura Tucker finally snapped.

"Eric Cartman and the rest of that group of boys attempted to murder my son, Harrison, now are you going to sit there and stare like a moron with a badge or are you going to do something about it?" She demanded furiously, the hand she had placed comfortingly on Craig's shoulder turning into a vicelike grip of protection.

At the suggestion he was possibly a moron, Sgt. Harrison Yates had begrudgingly begun scribbling down case notes, then informed them to stay seated while he called the school. They were going to interview every single student who had been involved at the scene by the lakeside the man sighed irritably, then cross reference between the answers to fact-check Craig's version of events.

The sound of Laura Tucker grinding her teeth was all too audible in period that followed as they waited; a backing track to the officer's orders being barked down the phone line and Craig's slowly thudding heart.

_C'mon Tweek, what was the lie? That I was worth something? That I was someone at all? Was it our friendship?_

_Or, somehow,_ **_somehow_ ** _, in the version of the world where I didn't ruin everything we ever had between us, was the lie that you weren't gay?_

_Was the lie that you weren't gay, Tweek?_

When he was released from the Police Station he walked out feeling like a criminal, head ducked down and shoulders rounded until his mom slid her hand into his and murmured, "Head up high, sweetheart, you've done nothing wrong."

He wasn't so sure in the statement as she seemed to be, but her hand in his felt like bravery embodied, and he lifted his chin.

Tension still coiled in his gut, a twisting knot of frayed nerves that had him avoiding eye contact with every person they passed on their way back to the station wagon, so sure that they had heard the local gossip or somehow intrinsically knew. Wrenching open the passenger side door, he hunched his tall frame to be able to take a seat and close himself inside, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he were about to fight for his life against some unknown force.

"It's going to be so bad from now on, Mom" He murmured when Laura slipped into the driver's seat beside him, eyes on his lap, "Everyone around here is going to stare and whisper, and say I'm a disease."

"You're not a disease --"

"I am to them!"

_I will be to Dad._

Laura was quiet for a moment, turning the key in the ignition and clicking on her indicator before pulling out from the kerb.

"Things might be a bit tough at first," She finally said, gaze briefly flicking between the road and her son, "But only for a little while. Then people will move on, find something new to talk about, and end up forgetting they'd ever thought it was newsworthy at all."

"How do you know?" He asked glumly, watching as her lips curved into a small smile.

"I'm the only divorcee in South Park, Craig," She reminded him with a light laugh, the sound bittersweet in the confined space, "I know how people talk and I know how thoughtlessly cruel their words can be, but I also know how quickly they get bored and move on."

"So I just have to put up with it? Just grin and bear it and hope they forget soon?" Craig snapped in reply, then calmed as she reached out to touch his cheek.

"No, sweetheart, of course not; I know you too well to ask you to do that," Laura Tucker murmured gently, her smile never faltering as she gave him a look of fond fatigue, "Ever since you were a little boy you've never gone down without a fight."

The words were loving and warm, settling down through the layers of murk within the boy's mind until he found himself nodding slowly, lost in the memories of all the times he had refused to back down and the one time he had.

Tweek, his cheeks grazed bloody from the snow and a shard of his own tooth sitting glistening on the palm of his hand for the moment in time Craig had been given to choose to keep fighting; for him, with him, it didn't matter anymore. Yet then the boy had stood up, leaving Craig beaten on the lawn like just another casualty of suburbia not even a Saint could hope to save.

_I should have told him he already_ **_was_ ** _the Saint that saved me. I should have said something,_ **_anything_ ** _; I should have given him the declaration of love he deserved._

Sitting in the car as his mom drove him home, the houses rolling by with their blankets of white, Craig held onto the ache of his own regret until he could taste it forming into speech on his tongue. Lips parting, he spoke to the faint reflection he could see of himself in the window more than he did to the woman beside him, his voice cracked and uncertain.

"I used to have this dream that I was floating in space, all alone up in the dark," He told them both, watching the ghostlike image of himself in the glass flicker in the changing light, "And I told myself I was happy in the dream because it was only me there and no one else, but I don't think I had it right."

Laura made a small humming sound of thought, turning the car into their driveway as she asked him, "What _is_ right then?"

"I think I was so sad, I had convinced myself I wanted to be dead, and to me being up in space all alone like that would be a kind of death," He said, hearing his tongue click dryly against the roof of his tongue as he admitted those awful things aloud, "Or at least a way to not have to deal with the future."

The ignition was switched off and the two of them sat there, staring out into the gloom of the garage as the motorised door closed with an electronic whine behind them. Craig's reflection had disappeared, so he finally dared turn to look at his mom instead, his gaze flicking from hers to his palms as he spoke again.

"But I don't want to die, Mom, I really don't," He told her, letting her grab his hands when she reached for them and holding on tight, "And the happy part of the dream was never the part when I was alone, it was the part where I started moving towards the stars up there and knowing it was going to be alright, no matter what."

Leaning her body over the centre console and gearstick, Laura pulled him into a fierce embrace, cradling the back of his skull as if he were a small child once more.

"It will be, sweetheart, it will be."  
  
  


Despite her belief that the longer he stayed away from school the harder it would be to return, his mom allowed him the next three days off as well, taking leave from work so she could be at home to keep him company as he recovered from his ordeal at the lakeside. His bruises changed from reddish purple to a deep blue black as the blood beneath the skin aged, the swelling in his nose returning to normal despite the scabbing line of split skin that left a scarlet mark across the narrow bridge.

"You look like an extra from _Fight Club_ ," Tricia commented one morning at breakfast, and Craig had laughed while their mother had winced, her face lined with grief over the damage that had been done to her son.

It was only on the third day, after all seven of his attackers had been suspended from school and issued court dates in Denver, that Laura Tucker decided he should return. The announcement came after she arrived home from grocery shopping to find Craig sandwiched on the couch between Jimmy, Token, and Clyde, all four of them watching one of the DVDs Tweek had once brought over to watch with Craig and subsequently forgotten to take home again.

_"I love you, how many more times do I have to say it?"_ The girl onscreen was asking John Cusack, the two of them at a teary impasse with one another.

_"One more time would be nice,"_ He replied, and Clyde let out a howl of misery, blowing his nose noisily whilst Laura Tucker came to stand over them with her hands on her hips.

"Perhaps we could pause the romcom and use this energy to unpack the car instead, boys?" She suggested, watching as Jimmy surreptitiously wiped his eyes and a stony-faced Craig rolled his.

"With pleasure," He grumbled, stretching his long limbs as he added sullenly, "They're convinced Tweek had a secret message for me hidden in these dumb films he left. They've been forcing me to rewatch this one ever since they arrived."

"It's so sweet, it's called ' _Say Anything'_ and it's about these two high schoolers who fall in lo-o-ove," Clyde sobbed, extending the final word into two more syllables than it needed to be.

"No it's not," Craig snapped irritably, "It's about a dumb bad boy who does boxing and a super smart nerd girl and how everyone says they shouldn't be a match but they fall in love with each other anyway and... oh."

_It's us._

The realisation came like a strike of lightning, pink blooming up his cheeks as he watched the couple onscreen embrace each other and wondered how'd he'd never made the connection before.

_I remember us on this couch together, and he'd just tucked a lock of my hair back under my hat so my heart was beating like it was going to explode. He said something, something important..._

Craig could remember the sound of the raspy voice but not the words, gazing at the television, through the grainy pixels in the footage to the past. It was all static and lips moving, his memory seemingly too faded until he remembered the scene of John Cusack's character standing under the girl's window with a boombox held high in the air.

_"If you love someone, you shouldn't be ashamed to let the world know."_

"I-I think he's f-f-figured out the secret m-message, boys," Jimmy announced, and Craig broke from his reverie as if resurfacing from underwater.

Turning to face his friends, then looking up into his mom's concerned face, he nodded slowly, suddenly sure in the path forward.

"Tweek deserves a boombox moment," He told them, jumping to stand with a renewed and fiery focus ablaze in his veins, "And I have an AV project and a Showcase night in two weeks that might just work."  
  
  


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The bus ride the next morning was as loud and crowded as it had ever been, yet to Craig it felt like unexplored enemy terrain as he climbed on behind Clyde and Jimmy, keeping his face perfectly neutral despite the nerves that itched behind the facade.

"Keep your chin up and give 'em hell, munchkin," His mom had told him at the door, her jaw set and her voice resolute.

He'd been determined to stay strong and follow her advice, yet as his peers began to look up and take notice of his arrival, he could feel his will begin to waver. Their expressions of shock and pity when they saw his healing bruises were better than sneers of disdain however, and he made it to his seat without crumbling into panic at the eyes that followed him.

"Dude! Welcome back!"

The voice was unmistakably Stan's, and Craig turned to see him grinning crookedly from his seat at the back of the bus, his hand raised in greeting. With a surge of warmth towards his friend, Craig returned the gesture with one of his middle fingers raised towards him jokingly, his mock-frown warping into a smirk when the other boy replied with a barking laugh.

"Yeah yeah, fuck you too, asshole."

The interaction between the two of them cracked the growing ice palpable in the air, the eyes that had been on Craig flicking over to Stan and then back to the friends beside them with dismissive rolling movements; nothing had changed surely, if Craig Tucker and Stan Marsh were still at each other's throats. Only the two separate gangs seemed to feel the change of feeling between themselves, as if an age old grudge had been finally laid to rest.

_Nothing brings people together like a near-death experience._

Despite the cynical tangent of his thoughts, Craig couldn't help but acknowledge how nice it felt, spreading warm through his chest right up until the bus pulled up to the black school gates. At the sight of the place where he'd been violently beaten, the boy cringed and reached to touch the tender lump at the back of his head where Butters' baseball bat had made contact, feeling it ache anew.

"Y-you alright?" Jimmy asked in a low murmur as they got up to disembark, pretending to fumble with his crutches so as not to make it too obvious he had paused to confer with his queasy-looking friend.

"Yeah, I think so," Craig mumbled back, swallowing back the impulse to reply with his previous go-to response of _I don't know_.

He _did_ know; he was going to be fine, he just had to get through the day.

Head held high, he descended the steps as if nothing about the street in front of the school grounds reminded him of the taste of blood and metal, shoving his balled up fists into his pockets and standing waiting with Clyde and Token for Jimmy to follow. They watched as he negotiated the stairs with ease of practice, landing with the thud of his dragging legs on the frosty grass verge and grinning over at them with a mouthful of glittering wires.

"Let's g-g-go, f-fellas."

As the four turned towards the imposing set of brick buildings ahead of them, a subconsciously protective cluster was formed around Craig; Token striding out the front, Clyde to his right, and Jimmy to his left. Looking between them all, the boy gave a rare wide smile of exasperated gratitude, shaking his head.

"Guys it's okay, no one's going to mess with me after my mom got the last people who did arrested and sent to court," He reasoned, gesturing towards their formation, "You don't have to bodyguard me."

Token looked skeptical, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Craig assured him, then added with a smirk, "I'm the Toughest Kid in School remember?"

The other boy frowned, but before he could point out the fact that that particular title had been given out when they were in Fourth Grade, another voice interrupted.

"And I'M apparently the Best Kisser, but you don't hear _me_ bragging do you, Tucker?"

Craig had barely so much as rolled his eyes before Stan was in stride with him, Kyle and Kenny hurrying to keep up behind.

"You seem to be bragging about it right now, Marsh," He fired back, then grinned as the boy let out another of his obnoxiously ugly laughs.

"I once got voted Second Fattest in the grade," Clyde offered to the conversation, going quiet for a moment then adding, "Actually forget I reminded you all of that."

"Too late, I've already stored it in my mental vault of blackmail," Kenny quipped, snickering mischievously when Clyde made a grumbling sound in response.

"Kenny, you've sniffed glue way too much over the years to have that kind of memory retention," Kyle informed him gravely, and at the orange-hooded individual's gasp of mock-betrayal the two groups of boys cracked up together in a moment of genuine mirth.

"See you guys at lunch or something," Stan said by way of farewell when they reached the main doors, leading his group off down the hallway towards where their lockers were located whilst the rest of them watched them go in dazed silence.

"D-did we j-just get along w-with the enemy?" Jimmy joked into the hush that had fallen between the four of them.

"Maybe they never were the enemy," Craig said slowly, thinking of all the times he'd sat laughing with Stan in his truck at the _7/11_ , his mouth burning cold from a slushy.

"So... are we gonna be sitting together at lunch then?" Clyde grumbled, arms crossed as he stared daggers at Kenny's retreating orange back.

Jimmy's good eye slid over to meet Token's, then the two of them looked to Craig, nodding together in uniform decision. With a slight curve pulling at the corner of his mouth, the taller boy nodded silently back, then hooked his arm around their grouchy friend's shoulders in a loving squeeze.

"Yeah, Clyde, I think we are."  
  
  


Sitting together at lunch proved much more initially awkward than he could handle. It felt like bringing a friend home to meet his family for the first time, with even Stan's usually self-assured demeanour rippling every now and then to reveal the agitation curdling beneath.

The cafeteria table seemed overly full and all too quiet, the seven of them awkward and clumsy as they tried to put aside years of animosity. Craig could feel his jaw clenching up in agitation, the tension in the air mounting until Kenny, who had been watching them all knowingly in silence for the past few minutes, finally pushed back his hood and grabbed up Clyde's pudding cup from where it was sitting on the table near his elbow.

"You're not eating this right?" He asked offhandedly, gesturing with it under the other boy's nose.

Clyde frowned slightly, chewing his mouthful of pasta salad before replying in confusion, "Not currently?"

"Great, thanks dude," Kenny said with a grin, peeling off the plastic top of the dessert tub and spooning a hefty amount of the pink custard-like pudding inside into his mouth.

Clyde looked horrified.

"That's my LUNCH, MCCORMICK!"

Kenny, whose nose was wrinkling up as he swallowed, placed his spoon-holding hand over his heart as if wounded.

"You said I could have it!"

"No I didn't! I said I wasn't CURRENTLY eating it!"

" _Pshht_ , technicalities," Kenny scoffed, before handing back the mostly empty pudding cup with a sigh, "Who even picks the strawberry pudding cups anyway, Donovan? They taste like ass."

"You sure ate a lot of it if it tasted like ass, Kenny," Stan pointed out with a smirk, making Jimmy snort with laughter and Kyle screw up his face in disgust.

"Dude! I don't want to think about the taste of _ass_ right now, I'm eating!" The redheaded boy objected, the level of utter horror in his voice only serving to have the entire table sniggering.

"You can have my pudding cup if you want, Kenny," Token offered, holding it out and peeling the lid off with a smirk to reveal the brown sludgy dessert inside before adding, "With all this talk of ass it's kind of starting to look unappetising."

A chorus of grossed out groans went around the table.

"Nothing about a pudding cup is appetising," Craig interjected, watching as Kenny eagerly grabbed for the small tub regardless of everyone else's disgust and stuck out his tongue.

"Tucker, you can't comment, you chose the _pineapple pizza_ for lunch," Kyle pointed out.

Craig frowned, "And?"

"Fruit on pizza is fucked up, dude."

The rest of the lunchtime was spent with the entire table debating on whether or not tomato counted as a fruit and therefore Kyle's statement was wrong, and despite the fact it was more arguing that Craig had been wanting, the shared laughter between the two rival groups was a better outcome than he could have hoped for.  
  
  


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There was the same sort of stillness of the world that usually only occurs ten minutes after a rainstorm that afternoon, the air itself washed clean despite the fact that none had fallen. The birds that had returned as Winter drew to an end twittered and called out to each other in the fir trees overhead as Stan steered his car to park beneath them.  
                Feet up on the dashboard and an all-too-cold blue slushy in his hand, Craig looked out through the windscreen to the dense forest that stretched out ahead of them, marking the Easternmost edge of town and therefore the furthest away one could get from Stark's Pond while still remaining in South Park.

It had been an interruption to his fevered work on his AV project when Stan had texted him to ask if he wanted to come for a drive, yet he was glad now that he had agreed; the other boy was pale and withdrawn, fiddling constantly with the radio and chewing on his words for far too long before finally speaking them. Something was wrong, terribly so, and if Stan didn't start talking about it soon, Craig feared just how rattled he might become.

"Y'know, if Clyde and Kenny manage not to be at each other's throats, I think our groups might one day all be friends," Stan commented before Craig could ask him what was going on, blurting it out as if purposefully trying to avoid the question.

"Yeah, they might," Craig agreed, his gaze moving from the other boy's pallid face to the gliding flight of a small sparrow outside, watching its feathers ripple in the air.

"Is the court going to make you testify in person at Cartman's hearing?" Stan asked, chewing on the end of his straw to flatten it in a way that reminded Craig of Tweek just a little.

_Every single one of his pens was always mangled._

Shaking off the memory, he pulled a face at the mention of the twisted boy, feeling hate curdling in his gut.

"No, they said I could just send in a written statement."

"That's good, you won't have to blind yourself by looking at his fucking ugly face."

Craig made a scoffing sound and Stan snickered then returned to gnawing on his slushy straw as silence reigned once more, the two of them watching the movements of the small birds outside and listening to the sound of the distant highway.

"Did you try talking to Tweek today?" Stan asked next, finally setting the cup down in its holder and folding his arms across his chest as if to save himself from further temptation to fiddle with it.

At the question, Craig felt his heart twinge, recalling with uncomfortable clarity the way Tweek had come in late for all their classes together, taking the seat up the front of the room that he had inhabited before all this mess had begun. It was timed perfectly for when the teacher was about to call for quiet, so Craig never had a chance to speak to him before the lesson had begun and he was reduced to sitting staring at the back of the blonde boy's head, wishing in vain for him to turn around and look at him.  
                  When the bell went for the end of class, Tweek was always the first to leave, dashing out of the room with such speed that Craig could never hope to catch him even if he had tried. Instead he watched him go, frozen motionless at the fearful uncertainty that if he had given chase, what would he have been greeted with? A face marred with blackened bruises that matched his own? A pair of amber eyes narrowed in true loathing?

"He hates me," He sighed, placing his cup in the holder next to Stan's and grimacing as the icy liquid inside of him suddenly became too cold to bear, "He won't even look at me, let alone speak to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I deserve it."

The words were bitter in Craig's mouth as he spoke them, glaring down at his bruised knuckles and wishing to take back all the damage he'd done. A useless desire, seeming naive and fragile as it curled up in the sun.

_I'll make it up to him. I have to try._

Stan was chewing on his lower lip, his teeth meeting so hard with the pink flesh that it became a bloodless white at their violent touch, and Craig couldn't help but worry the skin would split open beneath the force. Even as he watched, hands itching to move to his friend's mouth and pry the clenching jaws apart, Stan himself allowed his lips to open, a red crescent left along their thin shape.

"I told Kyle. He doesn't feel the same way," he said quietly, so quietly that it was scarcely above a whisper.

The words were the cold sting of a knife Craig had felt himself, for someone else, and without hesitation he reached out his hand towards the boy beside him. Skull cupped in tender palm, he guided his head to lay against his shoulder in a one-armed hug, Stan's face pressed into the sharp line of his collarbone.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, curling his other arm around his friend's torso and squeezing briefly, "I guess we both failed at the whole love thing then."

"I guess we did, dude," Stan sighed, pulling slightly away so as to look out the windscreen once more, his body still leaning against Craig's, "At least we have each other, as lame as that might be."

He spoke tentatively, all self-assurance absent from him as he watched the birds in the trees and pretended there hadn't been a question in his remark. Yet the other boy heard it, echoing within the confined space of the pickup truck as the only validation Stan Marsh would ever ask of him.

It was the need for someone to say _"I love you"_ , even if it was only as a friend, as a brother; as an old arch nemesis who had pulled him back from the darkness instead of leaving him to drown. It was the need to have it all have been worth it, somehow, as they sat there at the edge of town with all their cards played and no more tricks up their sleeves.

"I'm glad I found you crying in the _Safeway_ parking lot," Craig said, and he meant it, despite all the sadness that had come of that fateful meeting.

An _"I love you"_ spoken the only way the boy knew how; in mundane disguise, in deceptive monotone.

Stan smiled, leaning his head into Craig's shoulder and closing his eyes against the afternoon light that filtered in through the foliage above them.

"If life made any sense, this would be the part where we kiss," He murmured, the smile still playing across his face despite the earnest truth in the rasp of his voice.

Craig smirked, leaning back so that they were looking each other in the face once more before he replied.

"I don't know, Stan, that sounds pretty gay."

And they both laughed, quiet at first and then big and loud as the tears finally began to roll down Stan Marsh's cheeks.


End file.
